Nothing Which Goes Is Lost
by Jac Danvers
Summary: They reset the time line, but they haven't forgotten the last three years. Why do they remember? Is the island ever really done with anybody? Or was everything that happened one epic course correction? As Duckett once said, it'll come around... Now AU!
1. North Sydney Police Station, 7:42 AM

**Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Lost. But my birthday is in January if you were looking for gift ideas!**

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_"In this world of change, nothing which comes stays, and nothing which goes is lost."_

_-Anne Sophie Swetchine_

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_Jules… _

_Light... _

_Juliet in the light? That's ain't it…_

_Explosion. Jughead. Eloise. Falling, pulling, grasping, slipping… Daniel dead? Yes… but no… _

_Where was Juliet? _

He was sitting, he was aware of that much, sitting against a cool brick wall. A jail cell? Maybe he back in Dharmaville. How had Horace found him? Or was it Radzinski that arrested him? And why couldn't he open his damned eyes? Where were the others? It was silent around him, though farther away, he could hear the bustle of… something… Had the new recruits come in? Where the hell was he?

_I'm a complex guy sweetheart. Jackass. Freckles. Juliet. _

_She must be at the garage… or with Amy… who had a baby, Ethan… who took Claire… who had a baby…_

_Guess what? I just shot a polar bear… shot Duckett… shot an Other… shot a Hostile…_

_Jughead. Explosion. Reset the timeline. 815. Never happened… Jackass. What the hell is going on? Miles. Hurley. Sayid. Freckles. Kate. Jules. Chewy. Sticks. Claire. Aaron. Names, names, so many names, so many dead and missing. Jesus stick. Diamonds. Iron. Construction. Jughead. Juliet. Jughead and Juliet? _

"Wake up you son of a bitch, you're being deported today," an Australian accent snapped.

_Deported off Craphole Island? That sounds like a damn fine option…_

_Options. Choices. Variables. The incident. The chain. Juliet pulled away, down, down, down into the pit. Juliet dead. Jughead, explosions…_

James's eyes snapped open. He'd been deported before. He remembered that- was absolutely certain of that fact, if nothing else. It was the reason why he was on Oceanic Flight 815 when it crashed.

But it hadn't crashed. Because he was back in the jail cell. In Australia. Where he'd been deported from.

_Christ, this is just going in circles… I couldn't have dreamed that… could I? _ He pulled the collar of his shirt away from his skin, glancing down at his shoulder. There was still a scar where that bearded guy had shot him on a raft, nearly three years before.

He hadn't dreamed it.

His eyes darted around the jail cell, taking everything in. Gray cinder blocks stacked high with concrete between them formed the wall leading to an iron barred door. Outside, he could see officers at their desks, filing papers, eating doughnuts, making reports. Everything as it had been three years before. Or thirty years later. It all depended on the timeline one chose.

Why was he back here? Why was he living this again?

They were they variables. That's what Daniel had told Jack. That's what sent Jack into a psychotic tizzy, making him seek out a damned nuclear warhead.

That son of a bitch had brought them back. Everyone was alive. No one had boarded the plane. They'd changed the past to change their futures. Hit the reset button on the big video game of life.

So why did he remember Jack? Why could he picture his face, remember punching him in that face? Why was he still mourning for Juliet? He shouldn't remember…

But he did.

Questions spun through his mind. Why had they been allowed to keep their memories of the island? Why hadn't the three years they'd lived and experienced gone back to being a blank slate, unlived and unknown?

The answers didn't matter, because either way Jules was dead. The grasp of her sweaty palm, clinging to him for dear life as the magnetized iron chain was drawn into the depths of the debris-filled pit was seared in his memory. His Juliet, his sanity, his partner, the one person who had his back, the woman he loved, was gone.

Or was she?

What if she hadn't died in the fall? It was unlikely, so incredibly unlikely, that Juliet survived. Yet against all logic (because, really, that was the doctor's realm, not his), part of him hoped and prayed that the unlikely was reality. That she'd survived, just as she'd always somehow survived, long enough for the timeline to readjust.

_But then what? _he thought, as the gate to the cell opened and the officer entered, snapping the handcuffs around his wrists.

If Juliet had survived, it was only to be trapped on the island again, a virtual prisoner to Ben Linus. Who would have her back, now that he was here? He'd promised her. He loved her. And it wasn't fair that because the dumbass doctor wanted to make his own three miserable years disappear, he and Juliet would have to live knowing that unless by some miracle flight 815 crashed onto the island again, they would never be reunited.

James hated to admit it, but the idea of living the rest of his life, knowing exactly where Juliet was but being unable to find her was absolute torture. And he was sure she would feel the same.

Unless he was the only one who remembered…

What if he was the only one that retained memories of their island life? To live alone with these memories seemed like torture as well. There was no winning, was there?

"Let's move it, Ford. You have a flight to catch," the police officer snarled, pushing him through the station.

"Oh yeah, what flight?"

"Oceanic 815. Direct to LA."

"Lucky me," he quipped sarcastically, though he really did feel lucky. There was hope. Maybe they would crash again. Maybe he could find Juliet.

They exited the station onto a busy street corner in Sydney, where a police car waited for his arrival. The police officer opened the door, pushed his head down, and shoved him into the car. "Thanks for visiting Australia. Hope you enjoyed it, because you're not welcome to come back again."

"I wouldn't want to come back, boy," he countered with a smirk.

And it was true.

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**Okay, so this fic is something really different for me. While on vacation I started thinking about how Jack was so certain that when they reset the timeline they would forget everything that happened on the island. And that bothered me. How could he know for certain? This story was the brain child of that idea, jumping off the idea that Jack was wrong, and that resetting the timeline did not erase their memories, and what would really happen as a result of them leaving the island. Did they escape, or did the island allow them to leave for its own personal reasons? **

**This story will have a focus on Sawyer, for the most part, but the next few chapters will be looking at how the reset affected some of the other characters. **

**Please leave a review and let me know what you think! I really do love constructive criticism!  
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	2. The Observatory Hotel, Room 442, 9:27 AM

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Lost, or any of the characters associated with it. **

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There were no dreams when Shannon slept. There used to be dreams, when she was little. Dreams of being on the stage, of dancing en pointe to the music of Tchaikovsky, of nutcrackers turned into real men with a fine set of abs and a sexy smile. Heroes. Villains. Sayid, his arms around her, his body against her's, firm and strong. _Those were the nicest dreams… _she mused, moving further under the covers.

Shannon didn't dream anymore. She slept, and it was always an unending scene of black. She missed the colorful dreaming of pink fluffy tutus and a dashing Iraqi man. They made her feel safe, normal, like a human and not the uber-bitch the last few years had forced her to become.

_Wake up, Shannon… _she heard herself whisper in the middle of the darkness. _It's time to get up again…_

Oh, but she didn't want to open her eyes. Not now. She was too comfortable. Slowly, Shannon turned over in the bed, the soft cotton sheets wrapped around her body. One of Sayid's arms was slung across her waist, holding her against a well muscled chest.

_Wait a second… bed… Sayid? _Shannon distinctly remembered the sleeping arrangements on good old Craphole Island. She knew for a fact that they did not include mattresses and sheets. Why couldn't she feel sand?

Then it hit her. She was dead. That's why the dreams were gone. The bullet… who had shot her? One of the Others, knowing her luck. God, the pain of getting shot had been the worst she'd ever experienced. That is, until she gasped out a final goodbye to Sayid. The pain in his eyes, the tears welling up that he tried to suppress was the hardest for her to bear. Who was going to comfort when she was gone?

_Wake up Shannon! _she heard herself shout now.

"I can't, I'm dead," she mumbled, afraid of what she'd find if she opened her eyes.

The arm around her waist tightened for a moment, then let go instantly. "Oh my God," she heard the man next to her mumble.

She was wide awake now, watching a naked Boone tearing the comforter off the bed, wrapping it around his waist as he leapt from the bed. Instinct drove Shannon to grab the sheet and wrap it around herself.

As she took in her surroundings, she realized she knew exactly where she was. The chair with the maroon fabric in the corner, where she'd sat once upon an awkward morning. The wallpaper with the tiny, indiscernible pattern. The queen sized bed. She recognized it all far better than she wanted to.

Had the island been a dream? Was Sayid a figment of her imagination? God, he was so vividly drawn in her mind, everyone was- Kate, Jack, Hurley, Sawyer. The crash. The picnic. Making love with Sayid in the tent he built her. Boone's death. Her death.

It had to have been a dream! An incredibly elaborate one, to be sure, but it was the only possible explanation. Because Boone was standing across the room from her, wrapped in a comforter, just as he had the first time they woke up in this room. She couldn't experience this moment twice. That was impossible.

Wasn't it?

"Please tell me we didn't sleep together again," Boone moaned from across the room, apparently collecting himself faster than she had.

"Again?" she asked. Shannon hated the tremble that was evident in her voice.

"Yes. We did this before we got on the plane. The night before we crashed on the island. Tell me you remember that" Boone whispered. He looked terrified. Did he think it was a dream too?

"You remember the island?"

"Yeah. I died."

"So did I," she confessed.

"What?" he asked, incredulous. Boone shook his head, like he always did when he was trying to collect his thoughts. "I'm getting dressed. Then we're going to figure this out."

She nodded, still frozen on the bed. She waited to hear the bathroom door close, eyes studying the bed.

He wasn't a dream. Sayid was real. Was he still on the island? He couldn't be. Whatever alternate universe she and Boone were in, they'd never been on the island. In a few short hours, he would stop her at the airport and ask her to watch his bags, and she would turn him in to security.

Would he recognize her? Remember her? She hoped he would. That he would seek her at the airport not to watch his bags, but to kiss her in a reunion worthy of a melodramatic chick-flick.

Then what? The plane was still bound to crash on the island. Knowing what they did now, would they allow the same events to happen? No, they wouldn't make the same mistakes again. Boone wouldn't blindly follow Locke in his quest for the impossible, she wouldn't stalk ghost Walt through the woods. They would all know how to survive now. She and Sayid could be together, on the island. They'd be ready to face whatever challenge awaited them in the mysterious jungle.

But what if he'd forgotten her? What if only she and Boone had these memories? The plane would still crash, wouldn't it? He fell in love with her once; she could make it happen again. She was determined.

_But what if the plane doesn't crash? _ Shannon thought, and the worst case scenario came instantly to her mind.

When Sayid boarded the plane, he'd been searching for his first love, Nadia. He'd told her this one night, as they lay in the tent, wrapped in the coarse airport blanket. The pillow talk had been atypical, but she appreciated it. It helped her to understand him, where he came from.

_What if he remembers me, and the plane lands in LA? _Shannon thought. _He'll have to chose, eventually, between Nadia and me. Then what? What if he picks her? What if he remembers me and he picks her?_

"Shan, stop thinking about it," she heard Boone say, leaning against the frame of the bathroom door. He was still wearing the comforter, though his clothes were thrown over his arm. Blue button down shirt, dark wash jeans. Shannon wondered if he realized that he'd chosen the exact same clothes he'd worn the first time the plane crashed.

"I don't think. That's how I screwed up my life, remember?"

He sighed. "The past is the past, Shan. Somebody apparently decided to give us both a second chance. Let's take this a step at a time."

Boone entered the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Across the room, Shannon saw her suitcase and willed herself to get out of the bed. She crossed the room quickly, grabbing clothes and pulling them on without any attention to the minute details that once mattered so much to her. Glancing in the mirror she actually observed what she'd put on. They were the same clothes… the same damn clothes.

Tears were welling in her eyes. _He can't forget. He has to remember me. I can't lose him. Not again…_ Shannon heard a sob escape her throat. Lord, she hated herself for being like this.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Boone stepped out, fully dressed. She watched his reflection in the mirror as he moved across the room, standing beside her. "Shannon—"

"What if he doesn't choose me?"

She didn't know how much Boone knew of the story, couldn't remember if Sayid told her Nadia's story before or after his death. He threw an arm around her shoulder, guiding her to sit on the bed. "We won't find out if we don't go to the airport. We'll look for Jack and Sayid when we get there. We'll find out what they know, if they remember. Jack will know what to do, he always did."

"Then what?"

She knew Boone would know her true question. What if we all remember and we get on the plane and it doesn't crash, and he doesn't choose me? One scenario out of the many possible.

"Then we'll go back to LA. You can get back into dance. I'll help you. And not because I want to be with you, but because you're my sister, and that's what siblings do. We'll find a way to get your inheritance back from mom. And in time you'll find someone to love you—"

"Not you," she interjected, and immediately regretted it. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"No, you're right. It won't be me. Locke helped me realize there's more to life than you. Sorry to burst your bubble."

He smiled softly, and Shannon couldn't help but smile in return. After their ludicrous behavior the past few years, it was nice to have her brother back. She could only hope that he was glad to have his sister back as well. "But Shan, you'll find someone else. Life goes on."

She wanted to believe him. But she'd watched him bleed out in the caves. She'd felt the bullet pierce her stomach, heard Joanna's screams as she'd drown in the ocean.

"Sometimes it doesn't."

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**Just wanted to take a quick moment to thank all the reviewers of the first chapter: teh-Sarah, Golden-Black Dragon, and Jennay. Your comments are greatly appreciated! I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. Please leave a review and let me know what you think! Next chapter: we revisit Frank Lapidus!**


	3. Bondi Bar at Sydney Airport, 10:14 AM

**Disclaimer: I don't own Lost, or any of the characters associated with it!**

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_Incredulous. Flabbergasted. Wishing he had a flask filled with very, very strong liquor in his hand. All those emotions could entirely sum up how Frank Lapidus felt when the curly haired Russian woman and her cohorts had deemed him worthy of looking inside the box. Nothing on earth could have possibly prepared him to see Locke's dead body inside. But, then again, nothing had prepared him to see Locke alive after Sun said he'd been packed away in the cargo hold of Ajiira 316 in a coffin._

_ As he stood outside the odd four-toed statue reunited with Sun and her pal with the eyeliner, he took comfort in the fact that this time, when Ilana opened the box, he'd be ready. _

_Though it was carried by two young, burly men, the weight of Locke's coffin and corpse became too great for the men who carried them, and they dropped the crate. The lid fell off, sending up a small cloud of sand. Locke's limp body was splayed across the cheap pressure-treated lumber. Somewhere deep inside, alongside the obvious questions regarding resurrection and zombies, it registered with Frank that it didn't seem fitting that Locke's time on earth should end like this, tossed half-hazardly in a box with no chance of a proper funeral on this psychotic, twisted funhouse of an island._

_"Where did you find him?" The guy with the eyeliner, identified as Richard, seemed remarkably calm; a stark contrast to Sun's shocked expression._

_"In the cargo hold of the plane we came here on… in a coffin" Ilana responded. Next to her, Bram was nodding emphatically. _

_Frank tried to catch Sun's eyes, but she turned away, staring at the destroyed statue. For the first time, he noticed there was an opening in the base, leading into a darkened tunnel. It was like the entrance of a pyramid in the old, low budget horror movies his father brought him to see when he was younger. "I don't understand… If this is Locke, who's in there?"_

_"What?" Ilana asked, obviously not expecting the response._

_"Locke, maybe twenty minutes ago, went in there-" Sun indicated she meant the tunnel in the statue. "-with Benjamin Linus. They were going to find someone named Jacob."_

_Ilana looked panicked, absolutely panicked. Richard's expression was slightly calmer, but still exuded an intense worry. Frank started to wonder just what all this implicated, and quickly came to the conclusion that he didn't want to know. Closing his eyes, he covered his face with his hand, massaging his temples. His head still ached from where he'd been whacked earlier in the day, and this whole situation was all so damned bizarre. _

_His mother had told him to be an accountant. But no, he had to go and be a pilot. No accountant would have gotten into a mess like this._

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He moved his hand away from his face, opening his eyes. It was in that very instant he realized something was very wrong. Yet again.

"You ready to order yet mate?" a sandy-haired young man with more muscle than brains asked.

Kurt, according to his cheap plastic name tag, stood behind a fine mahogany bar, a woman even younger than him a few feet away serving a middle-aged woman a martini. Frank turned around, and saw a large entryway leading into the terminal of an airport. Windows, stretching from floor to ceiling, allowed him to watch the passengers boarding the planes. Listening closely, he could hear the roar of the engines at takeoff.

There was no sign of the towering ruins of the four-toed statue. No sign of Richard with the eyeliner, of Locke's corpse, of Sun and the remaining Others. There was no ocean or sand, just concrete and plastic.

What the hell just happened? Teleportation? Time travel? Had he actually time traveled? Is this why Jack and the rest of the Oceanic Six had disappeared? Then why didn't Sun go with them?

He never thought this much before he landed on the island. His brain hurt, and he was tempted to ask Kurt for a glass of McKutcheon Scotch.

Frank looked down at his clothes. He was dressed in a uniform, but it wasn't the white button down shirt with the golden tie and navy blue pants that indicated he worked for Ajiira. No, he was wearing black pants, black jacket, black tie. The color of Oceanic Airlines, which he hadn't worn in three years.

Nervous and confused, he asked Kurt, "What day is it?"

"Wednesday," Kurt replied, sliding an amaretto sour down the bar to another customer.

"No, the number," Frank insisted, hearing the urgency in his voice.

"September 22, 2004. You sure you're alright, mate? You've been sitting here a good fifteen minutes and you haven't ordered a thing."

_I haven't ordered a thing. I'm not drunk. I'm supposed to be halfway to blasted right now. At least, I was the first time I lived through today. _

"Just a glass of water. Gotta fly today." He nodded at his identification card.

Yeah, he was supposed to fly today. But today had already happened, and he hadn't flown. Seth Norris had flown, had crashed on the island, and died.

How was he back in Australia? He checked the time on the watch he knew he was wearing the day flight 815 crashed. 10:14 am. In an hour and a half, he would call Seth drunk from this very bar, causing the married man to drive down to the airport and take over the task of piloting Oceanic 815.

Today, though, on September 22, 2004 part two, Frank Lapidus was not drunk. And he would not get drunk.

Kurt placed the glass of water in front of him, and in a matter of seconds he gulped it down. His throat still felt dry, and he asked for another.

Frank did not consider himself to be a spiritual man. He didn't particularly think of himself as being all that logical either. Faith versus fact meant nothing to him. Life happened: you're born, you exist, and then you die. Some people thought that in between you should save the world. Frank had chosen a different path. He filled the in between with what felt good. For most of his life, it had been alcohol. A Bud, a Miller Light, a couple shots of cheap vodka, a _nice_ aged Scotch, when he was doing particularly well financially.

But as he downed the second glass of water, thanked Kurt for his help, and wandered out into the airport, he thought that it might be time to change that. What if he flew the plane today? Would the plane still crash?

They would find out in a couple of hours. Because Frank was determined to fly the plane. If nothing else, Seth would live. His three little girls wouldn't lose their father; his wife wouldn't be widowed again.

He started musing again._ If I'm here, and I remember everything that happened, does everyone else remember what happened? What about the people who weren't on 815? Do they remember living through this?  
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Frank had a sneaky suspicion that everyone who'd been on the island would remember. The Island had a sense of humor like that, would want them to remember the lessons they learned.

_And I just referred to the Island as human. Though who knows, it very well could be. _

He tapped a woman on the shoulder, and when she turned, he didn't recognize her. She was older, with the slightest hints of gray streaking through her red hair. "I'm sorry, can I ask you a bit of an odd question?" he asked.

"Shoot," the woman replied, not even attempting to hide the fact that she was checking him out.

"Do you feel like you've lived through a day like this before?" The question sounded more metaphysical than he'd intended.

"What?"

"Does today feel familiar? Like you've lived through it before?"

She stared at him like he was crazy. "No. It doesn't." Quickly, she grabbed the luggage she'd been toting and walked away at a faster pace than before.

So people that hadn't been on the plane didn't remember the first time this day occurred. But what about the Oceanic survivors? They still had a few hours to arrive at the airport, if they were going to arrive at all. They'd be smart if they didn't show.

He made his way to terminal 442, surprised he remembered the number. There was someone already there, waiting for the plane. He was sitting in a wheelchair, his head down exposing his bald head, his fingers drumming the side of the seat. He wore khaki, and looked like the adventuring sort.

Who was this? He didn't remember anyone in a wheelchair on the island. Perhaps this man was killed in the crash?

"You're a little early for your flight, sir," Frank said, with a smile. His boss always said he excelled in schmoozing with the passengers.

"Nothin' better to do, Frank," the man replied, looking up. He looked depressed, lost. Locke had lived for the island, and now (if one was going by technicalities), he'd never actually been there. Never been made leader of the others.

Frank struggled not to make his surprise evident on his face, but he was shocked. Locke was alive. Again. And he remembered him.

"Good to see you, John. Is this the real you, or the reincarnated island apparition that wasn't really you?"

"Considering," he replied, "That the last thing I remember is Benjamin Linus murdering me, I would definitely say this is the real me. I was an island apparition?"

Frank nodded. "Do you know why we're back here?"

"Nope," Locke said. "But I'm sure there's going to be quite a story to go along with this one."

Frank didn't doubt that.

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**I'm so excited by the response to this story! Thank you all for reading, and especially those who reviewed: muzical, Elisa, DiorNicole (times two!), ILoveNeil, DFaraday, Golden-Black Dragon, teh-Sarah, and Animorphgirl! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story! Haven't decided who the next chapter will feature, though I do have some interesting ideas... Don't forget to leave a review! Best wishes!  
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	4. Outside the Sydney Airport, 10:59 AM

**Disclaimer: Lost isn't mine. Alas!**

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_If anything goes wrong, Desmond Hume will be my constant._

Jack felt his hands trembling as he read the page, over and over and over. Ten words, ten stupid words were the only sign required to show him that something had gone horribly wrong.

He remembered Desmond Hume- running up and down the stairs at the stadium in training, staring longingly at the letter from Penny, half-crazed after being isolated in the hatch for so long. He remembered Daniel Faraday as well. Spacey. Neurotic. Lying in a pool of his own blood, shot to death by his mother.

It was therein that the problem lied.

Jack Shephard should not remember Desmond or Daniel. He should not have been holding this damned journal, reminiscing on how Sayid followed the directions to disassemble the Jughead bomb. These people, these events were supposed to be gone from his memory, permanently erased like the crashed hard drive of his first computer after it was hit by a virus.

Though remembering the past three years was unexpected, he shouldn't have been incredibly bothered by it. In fact, Jack considered it a personal triumph that he had succeeded in bringing them back to the day of the crash. His ultimate goal- to prevent the crash of 815 and move on with his life- was now feasible. Those who had died now had a chance to live He should be celebrating with a nice bottle of scotch, his feet kicked up on his coffee table.

But he couldn't.

And that was because of Kate.

Before Jack could think any more, he felt the taxi he rode in stop, the engine idling. Outside the window, he could see the flow of people into and out of Sydney airport, dragging their suitcases and screaming children behind them.

"That'll be forty-six dollars," the driver said over his shoulder.

"Sure. Just give me a minute."

What had been Kate's words, when he first suggested they detonate the bomb and eliminate the past three years?

_It wasn't all misery._

For Jack it had been, every damn moment of it, and he'd insisted that for her it had been the same way. Tried to convince her, to the point that she actually agreed helped with this crazy Jughead scheme.

Was he not thinking clearly? Did he misinterpret Daniel's words? 'Cause he was damn sure that the scientist had said when they arrived in 2004, there would be no memory of anything that occurred. They would know only that they were boarding their flight to return to LA. Jack had promised Kate everything would be forgotten.

Jack had nothing to lose from remembering the island. Though it would be a dark spot, something repressed into the back of his mind, he would move on. But Kate… Kate had been on her way to jail that day. The island had allowed her to escape a certain sentence of life in prison.

Forgetting the crash would make it easy… with no memory of the island, there would be no loss of freedom. But if she, too, remembered every event of the past three years…

If the plane didn't crash (and in Jack's gut, he knew the plane wouldn't crash), Kate would go to prison hating him. He was the one who talked her into participating. He convinced her that staying in the 1970's was wrong. She had been safe there, and could have made a true life for herself. Jack had taken that away. She would never forgive him.

Jack couldn't live with that.

"You're gonna miss your plane, friend," the cabbie said.

Though he felt numb, Jack pushed his feelings aside, stepped out of the idling taxi, and paid the driver with the money that he knew was in his wallet. Mechanically he walked to the hearse, parked in front of the taxi, feeling as if he was programmed to perform these actions. Everything was just as it had been three years ago.

The hearse driver was waiting, the back door open and his father's coffin visible. "Do you want me to bring this inside, Mr. Shephard?" the pudgy, middle-aged man asked.

"Yeah, if you would," Jack said softly, gazing at the dark maple box. Images of it lying open in the jungle devoid of the corpse it now carried flashed through his mind. He saw his father appearing in the jungle, leading him over the cliff, and Locke pulling him back up. It had been one of the first days on the island.

A thought hit him. What would happen if he recreated precisely his actions from the day of the crash? Would the plane just go down again?

Jack felt a sudden desperation. He _had _to change his actions- it was the only way to prevent the crash. If everything occurred as it had before, then Desmond would forget to press the button. There would be no arrival in LA. Everyone would be trapped on the island again, caught in a cycle. An eternal time loop.

"Oh shit," Jack uttered, hoping he would get the hearse driver's attention.

The man turned to face him, midway through pulling the coffin out of the car. "What's the matter, son?"

"I was just thinking… do you need to make special arrangements to fly out a coffin?" Jack already knew the answer. He'd practically gotten down on his knees and begged the airline staff to let him bring his father back home the first time he'd experienced this day.

The funeral home man frowned. "You didn't know that? Well… I guess that's not a question many people think about. How often is it that you have to transport a dead loved one from one country to another?" He was speaking more to himself than Jack, but he didn't feel bothered by that. "The airline needs to know in advanced, son. There's no way you'll be able to bring your father home today. I'm sorry."

Jack nodded, attempting to look distant. This was the change they needed, the change to ensure the plane didn't crash. Without Christian's coffin, they couldn't replicate the original flight. He was taking fate into his own hands.

And throwing Kate under the bus in the same action.

_Damnit, why can't we both win? Why can't I save her, save us, and prevent the crash. _Once again, just as on the island, he was driven with the need to save.

"Can you bring him back to the funeral home? At least until I can make the arrangements? I can pay."

The man clasped his shoulder. "Absolutely. You've had a rough couple of days. No one expects to lose their dad so suddenly. Go, grab a drink, make your flight, and tell your family what happened. They love you. They need you right now, especially you're mum."

Jack sighed. "Thank you."

Shaking hands with the hearse driver, and promising to call the funeral home as soon as arrangements had been made, he retrieved his suitcase and headed toward the airport.

As he stepped into the shady area near the doors, he heard a police siren behind him. Jack stopped dead. _Kate._

The police car stopped at the curb, sirens silenced as an officer stepped out. _Please God, let me be the only one who remembers, _Jack thought. _Don't let her remember. Don't put her through that pain. _

As the back door slid open, the officer blocked his view into the car. A moment later he stepped away, followed by a handcuffed Sawyer. His head was hanging low, hair in front of his eyes. He looked defeated. Jack felt disappointment surge through him that it wasn't Kate he saw.

Still, he crept toward the airport doors, directly into the path of the officer. Jack wanted Sawyer to see him. He had to know if he was the only one who remembered. Once he had that information, he could begin to formulate a plan to help Kate.

Sawyer looked up at the airport door, a scowl on his face. "Let me get this for you, man," Jack said to the police officer, holding the door open for him.

"Thank you."

Sawyer didn't react at all. No glance, no smirk. Nothing. As if he didn't recognize him

As if they never met…

He was the only one with memory of the island! The only one who would have to bear the burden. Jack felt a huge amount of relief flow through him. Sawyer and Juliet would never know the love they lost. Kate wouldn't sit in a jail cell, knowing that she could have had freedom. Sayid would never lose both of his loves.

Jack could live with this.

As he made his way to the departure gate, he felt a weight lifted off his chest. Flight 815 was going to land in LA as expected. Within the week, his father's body would arrive for the funeral. Life would go on just as planned.

"Watch where you're going!" a gruff voice shouted as he ran over a foot with his suitcase. The man was lounging in a chair, his legs far into the corridor where the crowds were rushing by.

"Sorry," Jack said with a shrug. Looking at the man's face, he saw the marshal, healthy and well. No shrapnel in his chest, no infection spreading. He did not appear a man to be trifled with, now that he was in prime form.

And next to him, sinking deeper and deeper into her seat, sat Kate. Jack stared at her, handcuffs hidden under a denim jacket, brown hair pulled out of her face. Her eyes stared up at him, penetrating. Her lips curled into a frown, and her face turned from apathetic and resigned to full of hatred and contempt.

She whispered one word under her breath, so soft that the marshal could not hear.

"Jack."

With one simple word, everything changed. She remembered. He remembered. Sawyer probably remembered and didn't recognize him immediately, it dawned on Jack, because he was mourning Juliet.

The plan had gone entirely wrong.

And this time Jack didn't know how to fix it.

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**Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Jack has always been a tough character for me to write, and in this chapter and in his situation, I feel like he really had the most conflicted emotions to deal with. I hope this chapter makes some sort of cohesive sense! **

**Thanks to all of you who continue to read, and especially to those who took the time to review: eyeon, DiorNicole, Jennay, Valhalla, eternallove-17, Golden-Black Dragon, and ILoveNeil. I greatly appreciate the time you take out of your day to leave a message. it means a lot!**

**Next chapter: Charlie and Claire. It should be interesting! **


	5. The Cafe at Gate 440, 11:31 AM

**Disclaimer: Lost is not mine! Also, I don't own Death Takes a Holiday.  
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_The feelings that overcome a bloke in his last moments on earth are peculiar ones, to say the least. _

_First came fear- will it be quick, will it hurt, did you screw up enough to warrant a slow and painful death? _

_Then, just as panic began to take hold, acceptance comes. You're going to die today, it's been predicted all along and you've just been avoiding it. Life is nothing like "Death Takes a Holiday." Man up and face it, boy. You're times up._

_The wondering starts now. Thoughts fly first to her, long blonde hair streaming in warm breezes as she attempts to catch a seagull to carry her message back home. Damn, she was gorgeous, and she loved you despite your past. You loved her too, and together, you overcame a plane crash, a drug addiction, amnesia. You overcame it together. Who will watch out for her when you're dead? _

_And Turniphead. Kids never seemed all that important to you, just annoying little buggers that' got in the way of your band. Then the little guy came into your life, and being a dad didn't seem awful. Will someone take your place? _

_Will they ever get rescued? Will the rest of your friends ever find some peace? _

_Would dying today ensure they lived to see tomorrow?_

_Such were the thoughts that passed through Charlie Pace's mind as the grenade exploded, when he knew death was impending and the water was already up to his knees. _

The message. You have to pass on the message_, a voice buzzed in his head. _

_Charlie could hear the sound of Desmond pounding on the window with the fire extinguisher. Water lapping at his elbows, he dug around in his pocket, never more thankful that he'd carried that bloody Sharpie in his pocket for the past ninety-something day. He wrote it on his hand._

_Not. Penny's. Boat. _

_There was a current in the room now, and he struggled just to turn around. The Sharpie was lost to the water, as it reached his neck. One last deep breath- he wondered just how many people knew exactly which breath would be their last. He tried to make it count._

_Water closing over his nose, he slammed his hand against the window, glad that the briny water hadn't washed the message away. The top of his head was now submerged, Desmond nodded that he understood. Still he didn't leave. His face full of grief, he stood by the window. As Charlie's vision blurred, and he let the last bubbles of air escape through his nose, he made the sign of the cross and prayed. Not for his soul, not for heaven, but that Claire and Aaron would be saved as Desmond had promised._

OOO

_Dad… Dad, why did you keep me here so long? Why do I have to leave now? I don't understand… I like it here. It's safe. No one attacks this place, no one can find us. I can think of Charlie and Aaron, and no one will stop me. Where am I going?_

_"You're going back," he whispered. "You're going back…"_

"What?" Claire yelped, her voice cracking from disuse. She was going back—back to where? A light flashed brighter than any she'd seen in the last three years, and when the flashing stopped, the brightness remained.

She sat up straight on the latticed metal bench, eyes opening tentatively in their attempt to adjust. A weight pulled her forward, heavy and overbearing. She looked down, and saw her belly bulging in front of her, hiding her feet from view. What the hell was going on?

_You're going back… _Christian whispered, even though he was nowhere near.

Back…

Back…

Back to where?

"Flight 4223 Sydney to Manila will be boarding in fifteen minutes," a disembodied, monotone female voice announced loudly.

Claire gasped, clutching her stomach. She knew where back was.

Back to the day of the crash.

OOO

"Good morning Charlie," a coarse female voice attempted to coo seductively. He felt a hand traveling down his body, sending a jolt through him. Charlie rolled away, flying off the edge of the bed.

Sitting on the floor, tangled in the thin bed sheet, he pinched himself. Still alive. He held a hand in front of his nose. Still breathing.

"Pinch me," he said, holding his hand out to the woman on the bed.

"Christ almighty, do all you rock gods have these weird fetishes?" Lily asked, breasts heaving.

He sighed. There was no time for this stupid discussion. "Could you just pinch me already?"

"Only if you pinch me in return," she replied with a wink.

"Fine," he replied. Whatever it took, he didn't care. He held out his arm, and moments later, felt the sharp plucking of his skin between two bright pink acrylic nails. His eyes closed in reaction to the pain.

When they opened, he was in the room, still alive and still breathing.

The sharp beep of the alarm clock sounded, drawing him from his thoughts. "You owe me a pinch babe… or another hit. You _do _have some left over, right?"

"The heroin's in the bathroom. You can take it," Charlie said, shoving his belongings into his suitcase.

Lily pouted. "C'mon babe, don't you wanna share it with me? You were all about it last night."

"That was last night. This is now. Not interested."

He glanced at the time. There was plenty of time to make the flight. Would there be time to find Claire? If she came to the airport, there would be. But what if she didn't recreate history? Any sane person, knowing that their flight was going to crash into the ocean, would not get back on board.

"Not interested? You were interested last night. What the hell changed?"

He stared at her, wondering how the answer wasn't obvious. "Everything."

OOO

"Claire, don't you dare start hyperventilating. Don't even think about it. It's not good for the baby," she scolded herself, pacing back and forth near the payphones.

But mentioning the baby only reminded her that she'd never given birth to Aaron. She was still pregnant. Now Claire was hyperventilating again.

She needed Charlie.

If the plane had never crashed, then Charlie had never died. And if she remembered the island, then he must too. He would remember her. If nothing else, Claire had to have faith in that.

But what if he didn't come to the airport? She may have landed in the airport when she time traveled, but there was no way in hell she was stepping on Flight 815. She didn't give a damn that there was a couple waiting for the baby in LA. Only the life of her and her child mattered.

And Aaron was _her_ child.

"Okay, Claire, go back through the day. You and Charlie talked about this. Where did he go? Trace his steps. That's the only way you'll find him."

Obviously he'd come to the gate to board, but she had already been on the plane thanks to that lovely rule that allowed pregnant ladies to go first. He'd left a hotel in the morning, where he'd been binging on heroin with a girl named Lily. _Oooh, he better not do it again. We got him through that on the island…_

She couldn't help but smile at the memories, even the painful ones, of Charlie. For three years, she'd sat in the darkness of the cabin, halfway between life and death, mourning the life and the family she and Charlie would have had if they were rescued. Claire could only reminisce, wondering if any of the other castaways would find her. She'd never been so alone in her life. The memories of him had gotten her through.

Now, though, if she found him, those island daydreams of a bright and airy house in the suburbs was possible.

Gritting her teeth, she redoubled her efforts. If Charlie Pace showed up at Sydney Airport today, she was going to find him.

OOO

Charlie was praying as he stepped out of the taxi, his guitar slung over one shoulder and his suitcase in his hand. He was praying she remembered the island, praying she was safe and in one piece, praying he found her. In his heart, he felt she would be there, in his head, logic told him she would not.

Either way, he would find Claire. If she wasn't on the plane, he'd get off and search Australia for her. It wasn't like he had a life to go back to. Life after Driveshaft, for Charlie, began on the island with her and Aaron.

_Think, mate. You have to have some idea of what she did the day of the crash._

He did. They'd talked about this, one night when Aaron had been particularly had said on the day of the crash, she'd gone to the little café two gates down from where they boarded. She'd talked to the pilot there, and he promised her a smooth flight before heading to the gate.

That was where he would start. With some hope in sight, he headed for the café.

"Hey! Hey mate, you've gotta check in first!" Security was flagging him down, and a man twice his size grabbed him by the wrist.

"I've gotta… there's a girl… I have to…" he stuttered.

"Listen, I know the whole story. The girl will still be there, and you can have your nice little romantic airport moment. Just check in. It'll take ten minutes." The glint in his eyes warned him that further argument would be entirely futile.

The line was long, and just ahead he saw Sun and Jin. He was tempted to stop and talk to them, but decided against it. He was on a mission.

Twenty minutes later he was through the line, and on his way to the café.

OOO

There was a long line waiting for food, longer than she remembered. When she stopped there the day of the crash, the pilot had been there, grabbing an espresso before the long overseas flight. Claire had been nervous- women weren't supposed to fly in their third trimester. He'd been nice enough to help her calm down, and even paid for the bottle of water she was picking up.

Where was he now? Hadn't they all come back?

Then it hit her. Maybe, not everyone had gotten a second chance. Had she been chosen specially? Or had those that died in the crash hadn't come back…

_Wait a sec, the pilot didn't die in the crash… Jack and Kate found him alive with the transceiver. The monster killed him._

_Oh my God. _

It was the people who died on the island that weren't given a second chance. Dead was dead, no questions asked.

The thought hit her hard, harder than the news of his death, and she felt her eyes tearing up. There would be no reunion with Charlie, no little family attending Boy Scout picnics and graduations. She would be a single mother.

Claire knew she could handle it- she was stronger now, a completely different woman than three years ago. She would raise Aaron. They would have a happy life together, and her little boy would never know what he lost. He would never know that he once had an adopted father, who raised him his first few months on an island in the South Pacific.

But Claire would know, and remember what could have been.

OOO

Charlie saw her. She was at the café, staring at the menu. Claire looked the same as he remembered her the day of the crash… the clothes, the hair, the baby. People were bumping and jostling around her, clearly uncaring that they kept knocking into a pregnant woman. Still she didn't move, reading and rereading the menu.

Memories of the kiss- that last, sweet kiss he'd given her when he knew he would die- flooded back to him. He hoped to God she remembered that moment as well as he remembered did.

Otherwise, this was going to be incredibly awkward.

OOO

Latte. Espresso. Double shot. Latte. Espresso. Double shot. If Claire kept reading the menu, she wouldn't think about him. She wouldn't think of Charlie's corpse floating in the underwater station where he gave his life for all of them.

_You can't give up hope Claire. You don't know anything for certain. You just friggen time-traveled. You haven't repeated the same actions, maybe the pilot didn't either._

False hope. She couldn't let it get the best of her. A decision had to be made.

She would stay at the airport until the plane boarded. Find Jack, and see what he thought of this entire situation. He would know what to do. When Jack was around, there was always a plan.

If she didn't find Charlie, she'd go home. Aunt Lindsey would understand. Hopefully.

Turning away from the menu, she reoriented herself so she could walk toward the gate for her flight.

And then she saw him.

OOO

Charlie was staring right at her. She wasn't reacting, but then again, neither was he. Did Claire remember him? They stood there, a good twenty feet between them. Then he saw her lips move, slowly and clearly. He knew what she said.

It was his name.

For a moment he was stunned, and didn't think to move. She remembered. He remembered. They were going to have a second chance.

He noticed that she was waddling toward him, as fast as she could move with a baby on board.

_Can't make her do all the work, _he thought with a smirk.

OOO

Finally, he was walking toward her, and Claire heaved a sigh of relief. She had been terrified that she would reach him and say his name, and he would think she was crazy.

They didn't even speak. Claire allowed him to pull her into a tight, loving hug. He was a real miracle worker, managing to avoid the enormous baby bump on her stomach. "You're alive," she said, stating the obvious. But she had to say it. Claire had to tell herself that this was really happening.

"I'm clean," he replied with a smile. He flipped his pockets inside out to show that there was no heroin on him. "I left it with Lily. I couldn't go back."

Claire smiled, feeling the grin wide across her face. "I love you, you bum." And in a move that was bold for her, she pulled Charlie in and kissed him hard on the lips.

OOO

Claire was in his arms. This was how it should have been all along. Emotions were flooding him- relief, joy, hope. They had a chance at something. He wasn't quite sure what yet, as he'd never really thought beyond the scope of the island before his death. But something was waiting for them.

"I'm not getting on that plane," Claire stated frankly.

He smiled. "I'm not either. Someone's gotta look out for you here in Australia."

"I'd like that."

Charlie was just glad she hadn't told him to bugger off.

"We should find Jack, though. Find out what the hell's going on. I'm completely in the dark on everything that happened after… well, after I died."

"I got separated from the group a few weeks later," Claire admitted. "I was in a cabin, and my dad was there. Honestly, I don't know what happened. I'm not even sure if I was dead or alive, but I was there for three years."

He kissed her again, a strange feeling washing over him. Had she really died? He couldn't bear think about it.

"So we'll head for the gate?" he asked, and Claire nodded her assent.

Taking her hand, Charlie decided he was never taking for granted the time he spent with her again.

He remembered the thoughts that went through his head as the water rushed around his body. Last time, he'd had warning from Desmond and a chance to say his goodbyes. But here in the real world, a bloke never really knew when his time on earth was up.

"You alright, Charlie?" she asked, squeezing his hand.

"Absolutely, luv."

It was time to make it count.

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**So this chapter... it's definitely very sentimental compared to other stuff I write. Not really one for big romantic things. But I felt like Claire and Charlie really called for that, cause they're so darn cute! I hope you liked it too!**

**Thanks to everyone who continues to read, and especially to those who have been taking the time to review: ILoveNeil, hjr (times two!), DiorNicole, SimplyCuteBambi, Elisa, teh-Sara, Golden-Black Dragon, muzical, Mara's Lost, IronhidesHoodOrnament, Dance in the Moonlight and CarolynneRuth. I couldn't believe how positive a response the last chapter got! You all really made my week, and I hope that this story continues to live up to your expectations! **

**Best wishes until next time! Jac  
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	6. Sydney Airport Holding Cell, 12:01 PM

**Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own Lost. **

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"Get in there Katie," the marshal said gruffly. She felt his calloused hands through her white button-down and tank top, shoving her into the airport holding cell. She didn't protest- honestly, she didn't care anymore. She was careening toward the cinderblock wall, hands tied behind her back, and there was nothing she could do to stop the immanent smashing of her face.

Nothing, except for another person stepping between her and the wall. Two strong hands grabbed her by the shoulders. "Her name ain't Katie."

"Excuse me?" the marshal growled, not used to being contradicted.

"I said her name ain't Katie. It's Kate."

"And how would you know that, buddy? You her accomplice or something?" Kate could sense the marshal practically licking his lips in delight at the prospect of another arrest.

Kate looked up at Sawyer. How the hell was he going to weasel his way out of this one?

"Ain't you ever seen America's Most Wanted? 'Ey, since I caught her, does that mean I get a reward? Could use the extra cash."

Kate sighed, thankful that he, as always, had a quick answer ready. As the marshal walked away, muttering about all scum being alike, she pulled away from Sawyer and leaned against the cell wall, sliding down it to take a seat.

Never before had she felt so defeated.

The first time she experienced this day, she had been fearful of going to jail. Who wouldn't have been? But despite that, and despite the fact that she knew her effort would be futile, she was still contemplating how she could escape. She was scared, but she would fight til the death.

Today, though, she didn't care. Let 'em throw her in jail. Better yet, give her the death sentence. Electric chair, lethal injection, guillotine- whatever it took to escape _knowing_.

The fact was this: for all its faults, its bogeymen, and its ghosts, the island had been her chance to escape. That alternate universe had seen her evade justice, and then get acquitted for her crimes. She'd found safety and brief brushes with not-quite-love in the arms of two men. She'd raised a child- something she never dreamed would happen. Staying with Dharma would have allowed her a life, a safe life, where no one wanted to throw her in jail.

And she gave it all up.

_Why, why, why the hell did I agree to go along with Jack? What was I thinking, believing what Daniel had written? He's a nut job._

"God damnit," she muttered, holding her head in her hands.

"Realizin' you're mistake, Kate?" Sawyer spit out. There was no pity in his voice, not that she expected any. Her decision to support Jack had cost him. He'd lost more than any of them. "You shoulda let me kill the Doc when I had a chance. Can't guarantee I won't kill him now. I just hope he remembers me when I do it."

Sawyer's voice was ruthless, and it reminded her of their first few days on the island. Kate had seen him grow so much from that shell of a human. He'd been a hero, as much as he disliked the idea of it. Had the loss of Juliet truly devastated him so much that he'd changed back to the cold con-man whose idea of fun was withholding asthma medicine from a girl who couldn't breathe?

Of course it had. Who was she kidding? She'd seen first-hand the love they shared.

"I won't let you do it," Kate said quickly. Jesus, why was she defending Jack? He had lied to them all in order to change the timeline. Or at least passed on the lies he'd been told by Daniel Faraday.

"How you gonna stop me with handcuffs on?" Sawyer smirked. "Soon as I'm outta this cell and on the plane, I'm a free man. How 'bout you Kate?"

Leaning back against the wall, Kate gave an angry, frustrated grunt. She wished she could blame Jack, throw him under the bus. But her stupid heart and even stupider hormones wouldn't let her. Not to mention the fact that she knew that this was partially her fault too.

She had been all for stopping Jack's Jughead scheme. She told Sawyer she had his back. But, as usual, a few words from Jack made her mind start reeling. When Jack was around, Kate knew she was like a lemming. She'd follow him right off that cliff into the ocean, without a thought.

Still, for once, Jack's words made her hesitate. The island hadn't been all bad, at least for her. Didn't he realize how much she would be giving up if she followed this plan?

It wasn't until she thought of her promise to Claire's mother that she decided to support Jack. If he was right… and he seemed so certain… it was the only way to give Aaron back his mother. She _had _to reset the timeline, not matter how much she stood to lose.

It's not like she would remember anything right? No memories of freedom, of love, of her child. She's just wake up back in custody, feeling guilty for crashing Ray Mullen's car and anticipating her trial.

_How much more screwed up can this get_? she wondered. Karma was having a hell of a good time with this epic mind fuck.

"You won't kill him," Kate said, calm as she could. She knew there had to be a bit of Jim LaFleur left in Sawyer.

"Maybe," Sawyer admitted. "But it don't mean I have to forgive the bastard."

"I'm sure Jack will have a plan. He'll know what to do." She was grasping at straws, anything to comfort Sawyer. To comfort herself, if she was being entirely honest. She couldn't stomach the fact that she was actually going to jail this time.

"Oh yeah. Brilliant idea. Let's follow another hare-brained plan by the guy who caused every damn mess we've been in so far. Pull your head out of your ass, Kate. Haven't you noticed? Every God-damned mess we've been in is Jack's fault. Stop hero worshiping him. He can't save you now. He couldn't save you on the island."

"Neither could you!" she shouted back, anger bubbling up. "He may have done more harm than good, but Sawyer, he tried. Jack tried to save us. What the hell did you do?"

As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Sawyer had done just as much as Jack. Lord, he'd given up his seat on the helicopter for her. _You're an ungrateful bitch, that's for sure, Kate Austen. _

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever. Don't matter much to me what you think of me. I don't love you anymore," he replied. The words stung. Still, they could have gone unspoken. The first time she'd seen Sawyer and Juliet together one the island, Kate had known she'd lost him for good.

"I don't love you anymore, either." That was true too. Once upon a time she would have chosen Sawyer, but it was Jack she wanted now. Jack, who wanted nothing more than to forget that she'd ever existed.

"I'm going back to the island," Sawyer confessed. "I got a feelin' the plane ain't gonna crash today. But I'm gonna figure out how to get back to her."

Part of Kate felt a deep sadness, her heart deflating. Perhaps she hadn't let go of all her feelings for Sawyer. But the rest of her knew this was coming. She knew he would search for Juliet, because if Jack had been left behind, she would have searched for him.

She didn't know if he would do the same for her. Kate liked to think he would.

If only her heart had figured itself out like this months ago.

"I'm sure Juliet will remember you. If we all remember, everybody on the island must remember too," she encouraged.

"Hell of a lot of good that'll do us, if I can't get back to her. Ben ain't ever gonna let her leave the island. It's up to me now."

"You'll find her."

And in her heart she believed it. Because if she was destined never to find happiness, if she was destined to rot away in a prison cell pining for Jack, she'd be damned if the others- these people she'd come to call friends- were miserable.

"What you gonna do Kate?" Sawyer asked gently. She jumped in surprised, not expecting his words. "They ain't gonna go easy on you in court."

She shrugged. "If I'm lucky, I'll get life in prison. Maybe parole in a decade or so, if I can convince them that the murder had been in self-defense. The fact that I ran for so long isn't going to help my case much. It'll be a stretch."

He sighed. "I'll talk to Jack. See what he can do for you." Sawyer looked like he was pain at the thought of even speaking to the doctor. "Can't leave you in jail. You'll end up someone's bitch in a week."

She snorted in disdain, though the suggestion terrified her. "I've been running for years Sawyer. That's just as dangerous as prison. I'll live."

"I'll talk to the Doc," he said firmly, and Kate knew there was no arguing.

"Thanks."

She knew that there was no chance she'd escape her sentence. But losing her freedom was a necessary sacrifice. A huge sacrifice, but one she knew would allow the others- Claire, Sawyer, Boone, hell even Michael and Locke- to have a chance.

Kate was almost certain she could live with that.

Almost.

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**Hey everybody! Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I've never been a big fan of Kate, or her love triangle, but I have to admit that this chapter was fun to write. I think the only thing I'm looking forward to more is writing the Jack and Sawyer reunion (which is still a few chapters away!). Special thanks to all those who reviewed the last chapter: DiorNicole, InkIncorporated(times two!), IrishGirl8, eyeon, Golden-Black Dragon, Dan man, ILoveNeil, muzical, Dance in the Moonlight, and SimplyCuteBambi. Next chapter we get a glimpse back at the island... and the beginnings of a scheme that will shake the island dynamics for good. **


	7. The Playground at the Barracks, 12:17 PM

**Disclaimer: Nope, still ain't mine! **

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_Daddy let me die…_

Sixteen years she'd lived on this island. She'd breathed her first breath here, taken her first steps, said her first words. Alex knew that the island worked in mysterious ways. So when she woke up with the distinct memory of being shot execution style outside the place she'd called home all her life, she knew it wasn't a dream.

No, it wasn't a dream at all.

Swinging back and forth on the playground, she gazed at the barracks, the only place she'd known as home. Despite the fact that the houses were full and all those friends who'd died were once again amongst the living, they were empty to her. In her mind, they were still mountains of rubble from the mercenary attack. No homey sense of love and protection.

Alex had died here, in the one place she was supposed to feel safe. And she'd died because the man who was supposed to take care of her had abandoned her. Said she wasn't his. That she was just a pawn in the game, and an insignificant one at that.

Yelping in pain, she drew her hand away from the rusted chain links that held the swing off the ground. There was blood dripping between her fingers where a sharp piece of metal had cut into her. "Damnit," she muttered, feeling her eyes fill with tears.

_Don't cry. Stop being a baby, Alexandra Linus._

Linus. No, not anymore. Not if she had any choice in the matter. If Benjamin Linus didn't consider her his daughter, then she would no longer consider him her father. It was Alexandra Rousseau now, whether he liked it or not.

As she stood, a restless feeling flooded her, and she looked towards the sky. She'd been here, at the playground with Karl, when the plane first went down.

How naïve had she been? Honestly, Alex wanted to kick herself. Every sign had been there from the beginning, if only she'd stopped making googly-eyes at Karl. Of course she had her suspicions that everything wasn't quite right- why else would she have helped Claire and her baby escape Ethan?- but she never acted on them.

By the time she'd put two and two together and realized the kind of man that Ben was, it had been too late.

Alex glanced at the sky again. Still no plane. If only she could remember when exactly they had crashed! Why hadn't she paid more attention?

That day, she'd been out here swinging for a while, thinking about her relationship with Karl, and wondering why her dad wanted to keep them apart. It was all so very Romeo and Juliet, but ever the romantic, she was certain everything would turn out fine in the end. The object of her thoughts had eventually joined her on the playground, as the adults gathered for their book club. She and Karl had been lost in each other, probably for hours.

All she remembered after that was the explosion. It scared her so much, she'd accidently kneed Karl in the balls when she jumped out from under him. Perfectly good make out session interrupted.

Blissfully oblivious life destroyed.

She wondered if she was the only one who remembered. She hoped not, only because she wanted to see the guilt on Ben's face when she looked into his eyes. Well, if he knew how to feel guilt. Alex had her doubts.

"Alex! Alex where are you?"

It was Karl. She couldn't deal with him right now; she had to get her own thoughts collected. Jumping off the swing, she ran for the woods.

"Alex, are you here? We said we would meet here today, didn't we?"

From beneath the brush, she watched him. He had that same lost puppy dog look in his eyes. Karl didn't remember anything. She could sense it.

_Why do I remember? And why not Karl? _she wondered. Did the island want something from her?

Maybe Richard would know. As loathe as she was to ask one of her father's cronies for help, Alpert had made it evident in the past that he wasn't so gung-ho about all of Ben's ideas. He'd been on the island for eons; he would know what to do next. And he could tell her what happened after she died.

That is, if he remembered.

As she walked deeper and deeper into the jungle, she wondered how she would confront Ben. Forgiveness wasn't even a thought in her mind.

When Keamy dragged her out of the jungle, Alex had seen Ben, hiding behind the curtain with his walkie talkie in his hand. Sawyer was in the house with him, and Hurley and Locke. Didn't they all have guns? They were well concealed, totally safe. They could have gotten a shot off at the mercenary and killed him.

_Why did I have to die? _

Why was she even bothering to ask? That she'd been forced on her knees, with a gun to her head, to wait and wait and wait for the inevitable bullet, was totally acceptable. Ben's ass had been saved, hadn't it? Thank God, all was right in the world, for Benjamin Linus had prevailed. Damn the costs, damn the lives that stood in his way.

Pushing branches aside, Alex broke into a sprint. She wanted to be as far from the barracks as she could get. Her mind was contemplating revenge, and it frightened her immensely. This wasn't the type of person she was.

That was Ben. And she didn't want to be Ben.

"Alex?" The voice was harsh and rough.

"Mom?"

Danielle Rousseau was hidden behind trees, her gun slung across her back. There were tears in her eyes as the words came out of Alex's mouth, but the older woman pulled herself together quickly. "You remember?"

"Everything. The soldiers captured me after you... you… Mom, they shot me and Ben watched. He let me die."

"You want me to shoot him?"

Actually, Alex wanted a hug, but she knew that wouldn't be the first thought that came to her mother's mind. Her mother was a bit too hardened for those types of endearments. The fact that she was willing to blow Ben's brains out for her was touching, in a sick way.

_And that's Ben's fault too, isn't it? He kidnapped me, left her alone to go crazy. She was so young when she had me, she was alone on the island. Ben took advantage of that._

"We need to go see Richard Alpert. He'll know what to do."

"Indeed I do."

Alex nearly jumped out of her skin, and Danielle had her gun off her back and aimed within seconds. Richard stepped out of a bamboo patch, hands raised in surrender.

"No need for guns, Danielle. I come in peace. It's good to see you alive again, Alex."

She gave him a wry smile. "How many people remember what happened?"

He shrugged. "I'm still trying to figure it out. Juliet does, and Ben. Ethan and Goodwin. You and me, and apparently your mother. Everyone else… not even the slightest hint of a memory."

"No one?" Alex whispered. She saw her mother out of the corner of her eye, cautiously staring at Richard.

"I really don't understand how they were chosen. I don't even know if the crash survivors have any memories of the last three years. Jacob… I have to find him. He's the only one who knows exactly what's going on. I can piece bits of it together, but…" He trailed off, deep in thought. It was odd, seeing Richard so scattered and unsure. Disconcerting.

"What should we do until you figure it out?" Danielle asked, finally lowering her gun. Alex was surprised that her mother seemed to trust Richard. The man had a way about him.

"Danielle, go back to your hideout in the jungle. I know where you are, I'll seek you out later. I need to speak to Alex alone."

Her mother didn't move, and when Alex turned, she saw a protective glint in her eye. Danielle knew firsthand how dangerous the island could be. "It's okay, mom. Richard'll make sure I get back in one piece. We'll meet up later tonight nearer the barracks."

Nodding, Danielle retreated into the woods. "You need to go back to your father."

She frowned. "He's not my father. I'm not returning to that house."

Richard cocked his head, his eyes squinting as he took Alex in. She lifted her chin defiantly, daring him make her. She was done with Ben.

"You have no loyalty to him? He raised you, Alex."

"He let me die, Richard. I can't forgive him for that. "

A grin spread over his face. "Understandably." He hesitated, planning out his next words carefully. "I may not know everything that's going on Alex, but I do know that we need to prevent the same course of events from happening again. Because if it continues in such a cycle, the results will be disastrous. Do you know the key to preventing this cycle?"

She shook her head.

"The island is a special place, but you already knew that. It's giving us a golden opportunity. A chance to correct the course of history. That course correction, I believe, begins with you Alex. If you're willing to go on a little faith—"

"Why should I believe you? You were all buddy-buddy with Ben. How do I know this isn't a trick?"

He folded his arms across his chest, smirking. Alex knew she was playing tough, but it was only because she didn't want to get played again. "You're a smart kid, Alex. If there's one thing to be said for your fa—to be said for Ben, he didn't raise an idiot. If you go along with what I say today, I will bring you to see Jacob when I find him. Would speaking to him reassure you?"

Pondering this offer a moment, she nodded her agreement.

"Ben betrayed us all, after you died. He turned to the side of evil, to the nemesis, and killed Jacob. The forces that brought us back in time may have spared his life. We must ensure that Ben will never have the opportunity to kill Jacob again. His time as leader of our people must end."

"You mean overthrow him?" Alex asked, knowing her eyes had widened.

This had not been what she expected, and momentarily she felt guilty. Could she really go through with this? Sure she was angry, but eventually she'd forgive Ben, right? They had a chance to start over, to finally be a little family.

"_I'm not coming out of this house, so if you wanna kill her, go ahead and do it…"_

The last words she'd heard Ben say before the gun fired, as if from nowhere, blazed through her mind. They were more painful now than the first time.

"That's exactly what I mean," Richard said.

"_She's just a pawn, an insignificant pawn…"_

Alex didn't hesitate. "I'll do it."

OOO

"Alex, is that you?"

Sliding through the front door of the house, she cheerfully walked into the kitchen where Ben was sitting in quiet contemplation of a turkey sandwich. "Who else would it be dad? How was the book club today? Juliet said you were reading Carrie."

She was surprised by how much she remembered. A scene very similar to this had played out in this kitchen so very long ago. Ben's eyes bugged out a moment, then returned to normal. To the undiscerning eye, they would think nothing of it, but Alex knew what it meant. It was his way of expressing shock.

He had expected her to remember. And he was falling for her act.

"Juliet and I had a bit of an argument yesterday," he replied softly. "So I didn't attend the club this week. Where have you been today?"

She saw him biting the inside of his lip, waiting to see how she answered. Maybe he hadn't fallen for the ruse.

"I was with Karl, at the playground."

Alex remembered back to the first time she said that. Ben had flipped out, told her to stop hanging around Karl. Today, he merely smiled, satisfied. "That's nice. Ethan's going to be joining us for dinner tonight, if that's alright with you."

"Fine by me. I'll be upstairs."

Suppressing her gag reflex, she kissed Ben on the cheek before heading to her room. He'd fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

Tomorrow she'd talk to Juliet as Richard had instructed. But for now, she would bask in the glory that she'd manipulated the master manipulator.

Daddy let her die once. It wasn't going to happen again.

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**I'm not going to lie, I loved writing this chapter. The plot takes off from here, so I'm real excited to get into that. Alex & Danielle's deaths have always bothered me, so I wanted them to get more face time. Thanks to everyone who read, and especially those who reviewed the last chapter:Dan man, gemeni ebo, CarolynnRuth, imsolost, ILoveNeil, GreenTeaHoney, Marla's Lost, and teh-Sara. I really do appreciate them!**

**Just so you know, updates from now on are probably going to be fairly sporadic. My graduate classes start next week, and are going to have to take priority. Real life calls, unfortunately! I will update when I get a chance, it's just not likely to be with any frequency. Thanks again for reading, and feel free to leave a review!  
**


	8. Ticket Agent's Queue, 12:45 PM

**Disclaimer: Still don't own it!**

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"Mom? Mom is that you?"

"Oh my God, Ana? Are you alright? Where are you? What happened?"

Ana Lucia nearly sobbed at the sound of her mother's worried voice. What happened indeed? That was the question of the hour. To her mother, she had merely disappeared for a couple of weeks, trying to escape the guilt of killing the man who shot her.

But for Ana, so much had happened. Hadn't it? She was so confused, so very confused. Michael had shot her. He _killed _her. She'd been in the line of duty long enough to know that no one survived gunshot to the chest from that distance. Especially when the nearest hospital was an ocean away.

"I… I… the plane… " She was overcome with a barrage of emotions, unlike any she had felt before. The words wouldn't form in her mind. And even if they did form, how could she say them? How was she supposed to explain this, when not even she knew what was going on?

The island wasn't a dream. No way in hell was that possible, if only for the fact that she could still feel the coarseness of the wooden stake she'd used to impale Goodwin against her hands. It was much like her reaction to shooting Jason McCormak. For months her hands would tingle, remembering the way the gun shuttered as she sent the bullets flying into his body.

Shooting Jason had been real. So had the island.

"Ana? What about the plane? Are you in trouble?" She'd never heard her mother sound so frantic before.

Taking a deep breath, she spoke with convincing clarity the same words she'd said the first time this day had happened. "That was an airplane. In the background, an airplane. No, I'm not at work. I'm in Sydney. That's right, Australia. I -- I don't know, I -- I made a mistake, mom. I want to come home."

"What flight?"

"Flight 815. Oceanic."

God, why did she say it? Why did she say she would get on Flight 815 again, when she very well knew it would crash on the island all over again? Just fucking awesome.

_You don't have to get on, _a little voice in her head said. _You could just call mom back and tell her that you missed the flight. Get on the next one out. _

Collecting herself, Ana gathered her purse, phone, and jacket, and threw herself into the waves of travelers. Shoving and pushing, not too rough to look like a total ass, but like a desperate woman instead, she rushed to the ticket counter. An employ in his early twenties sat at the computer, trying to look busy. She could see the earbuds of his I-pod stuffed in his ears, and a game of Spider Solitaire on the computer. "Excuse me," she said.

He didn't respond, head bobbing to the music like an idiot, lip synching. Impatient, and frankly, scared, Ana Lucia smacked her hand against the ticket counter, shouting "Hey! Excuse me! A little assistance here!"

Good lord, she had to stop letting her temper get the best of her.

The young man jumped, yanking the earbuds from his ears, and spun around in his desk chair. "Please don't report me to my boss," he stammered. "You try working here for a couple days, with angry tourists and shite. You'd be trying to drown them out too."

"I don't care," Ana snapped, cutting him off before she could get his entire life story. "You can go back to your game, I don't care, I just need you to get me tickets on the next flight to the US. LA preferably, but I'll take what I can get."

"Don't even have to look that up ma'am," he replied. "It'll be Oceanic 815. Lands in LA this aft-"

"Absolutely not. Any flight but Oceanic." She felt frantic, on the verge of hyperventilation.

He looked at her strangely. "What's with people and that flight today? I've had at least two cancellations, and half a dozen people asking if they could switch their flights. Not really possible at this point, you know? I mean, come on, it's not like there's a murderer on board…"

"WILL YOU FIND ME A FLIGHT?"

She hadn't meant to shout, really she hadn't. But hearing the words murderer, knowing full well that despite whatever her precinct psychiatrist would tell her (probably something along the lines of the island being related to post-traumatic stress disorder), she'd killed three times. Three. Not to mention that Shannon had been completely innocent.

She was a murderer. And that's where her patience ended, and her anger began.

The man at the desk quietly sank back into his chair, tapping away at the computer in front of him. "The next flight to LA isn't 'til tomorrow night, and it's booked full, as well as the next two after. Now, if you don't mind landing in New York, you could take Air Canada to JFK in Manhattan. From there, it'll be a flight from New York to Chicago, Chicago to Phoenix, then Phoenix into LA. With stopovers, you'll arrive in four days."

"That's the quickest you can get me to LA? Four days?"

He nodded. "I'm sorry, we had a lot of cancellations today. Like I said, a lot of people tried to get off Oceanic 815, but weren't able to. They finally just settled with the tickets they had. Don't know why everyone's so jumpy. It's not like 815 is an unlucky number." He laughed at his own joke.

Saying thanks for your help seemed inappropriate. The kid at the desk had no idea what the hell he was talking about. Ana walked away with her head down, frustrated with destiny and fate. She wanted out of Australia, to be home and safe with her mom, even if she did turn her in for shooting McCormack. But the only way to get out was through Oceanic 815, and that meant death.

She wondered if they crashed again, would she be able to fix her mistakes? Would she shoot Shannon? Sleep with Sawyer? Trust Michael?

Knowing her luck, she'd make the same damn mistakes all over again.

"Ana Lucia!" she heard a familiar voice exclaim from behind her

"Libby!" Turning, she saw the ever-calm psychiatrist standing a few feet away with a grinning Hurley at her side. She gave her a vague, ethereal smile, and Ana couldn't help but feel comforted. There were others who remembered besides her, which meant she hadn't completely fallen off the deep end.

"Hey dude," Hurley said brightly. So happy she was to see him as well, she ignored the fact that he'd just called her dude and instead gave each of them a hug.

Ana knew herself. At least, the old version of herself. And that Ana never gave hugs.

"I'm guessing you couldn't switch flights either?" Libby asked.

"Nope. Not unless I want to hang around this airport a while."

"You gonna chance it?" Hurley asked.

"I think so. I need to get home. My mom… well I need my mom. More than ever right now."

Meandering towards the gate slowly, trying to delay her arrival for as long as possible, she found herself looking for familiar faces in the crowd. The Korean couple was at the café, Jin's arm affectionately slung around Sun's waist. They seemed so relaxed and comfortable, a far cry from their island behavior. And they were both speaking English. Jin couldn't do that when she died.

It was the second confirmation that the island had been real. The feeling that she had gone insane was ebbing- a huge relief.

Further along the way Rose and Bernard were talking softly, in their own little world. Both look absolutely devastated. Ana couldn't help but wonder what was wrong. Maybe they knew something she didn't know. Were they afraid they'd end up back on the island?

She sure as hell was.

"Are you two getting back on 815?" she asked.

"Dunno," Hurley replied. "I'm back and forth . A lot of stuff went down after you two died. But Jack was pretty damn certain that when he blew that hydrogen bomb, that the timeline would be reset, and the plane wouldn't crash. Then again, he also said we'd have no memory of the past three and a half years, and look where we are."

Ana stopped in her tracks, as did Libby. "Hydrogen bomb?"

"Uhhh… yeah dudes. See, we escaped from the island, but then we had to go back, because we were never supposed to leave. But when we got back, we were in the seventies with the Dharma Initiative, and Daniel- he was the scientist that came on the freighter- told us we could reset the timeline, and there was some science-y talk in there that really didn't make sense, but Jack thought it did. And there was a fight, and then an explosion, and Juliet died- she used to be an Other, but now she's a good guy- and then POOF. I was back in my hotel room."

Ana knew she was gaping. Libby was definitely trying not to. Freighters, Others, physicists, and the Dharma Initiative? Maybe she had lost her mind.

"I think you're gonna have to fill in some of the blanks for us once we get to the gate, Hurley," Libby said calmly. "That's where Jack told you we would all meet up, right?"

"Yeah, at the gate," Hurley replied.

And that's when Ana saw him.

Head down low, he appeared to be trying to keep a low profile. Walt walked at his side, talking animatedly. When the kid finally shut up, Michael was laughing, a grin on his face.

A grin that Ana Lucia wanted to wipe off with her fist.

"Hold up a sec, Libby, will you?" Ana asked. "Watch my bag."

Fists clenched, she stalked toward the man who had shot her in cold blood. What made him so deserving of a second chance? He'd lulled her into a false sense of trust, betrayed her and the others when he shot her in cold blood. And lord knows what other he did after she was dead.

"Ana what- oh my God, Ana stop!" Libby called, realizing what she was going to do. She ignored her, anger in the forefront of her mind. Michael had to pay.

Stalking, she was stalking him, and she didn't give a damn if the whole airport saw her take him down, much less Walt. They could call her cold, she wanted revenge.

"Would that make you any better than him?" a voice, timbre deep and lilting, asked.

Ana stopped dead her tracks. Eko.

"It would make me feel better."

The African man looked grim. "You have killed. He has killed. What if things had gone the other way, and you killed Michael. Would you blame Walt if he chose to seek revenge? The past is the past Ana Lucia. If we have been given a second chance, or maybe, some might even call this a third, it is so that we might not repeat the same mistakes as last time. "

His words rang through her ears, and though she heard and understood, she still put one foot forward to continue her approach. Trying to move the other, she couldn't.

Eko was right.

"I believe you understand me? Michael has paid for what he has done, many times over, just as you paid for killing Shannon. Let it rest. Start over."

And though a little piece of her was dying for revenge, she did.

"Why don't we go join Libby and Hugo? Where were you heading?" Eko asked. "We have always stuck together, you, Libby, and I."

"We're going to meet Jack at the gate for 815. He wants to talk to everyone, figure out what's going on."

Eko nodded. "Will you be joining us Ana?"

With a look over her shoulder back at Michael and Walt, she nodded her agreement.

Some fights could wait to be fought.

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**Ahh, first chapter in a while. Have to thank all of you for your patience. Grad school is tough. Not that I didn't expect that, but boy does life come at you faster than you expect. Finding time to write is rare! **

**Thanks to everyone who continues to read, and especially to the reviewers: DiorNicole (times two!), EasyButton, KaydenceRei, Golden-Black Dragon, Dan man, S, Lyta Padfoot, , kab16 (times four!), ILoveNeil, eyeon, SimplyCuteBambi, CarolynneRuth, Marla's Lost, and Jennay. Wow, that list is so much longer than I remember. So thank you all so much again! Your reviews definitely help me get through the rougher parts of the week- you have no idea!**

**Up next: another airport scene, this time featuring two of the most polarizing characters in the history of Lost. Two chapters from now: our first view of one of the freighties, though not necessarily from one of their perspectives! **

**Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated! All the best!  
**


	9. The Newspaper Stall, 1:18 PM

Disclaimer: And Lost is still not mine.

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_**NEW DETAILS EMERGE IN ABU GHRAIB PRISONER TORTURE HEARINGS**_

_**ZUCKERMAN DEAD!**_

_**ASSISTANTS TO TOM DELAY INDICTED FOR ILLEGAL FUNDRAISING**_

"Howie's dead? What do you mean, Howie's dead?" he heard her gasp over the phone, the phony hysterics growing as her sniffling increased. Nikki was never one to half-ass the role of drama queen. He rubbed his forehead in frustration and annoyance. Despite his utter confusion over his situation, there was one thing for certain- he was done with her.

"But… but he was just fine when we wrapped two days ago. What happened?" All she needed was a Kleenex for a melodramatic nose-blow. The picture just seemed incomplete without it.

"Like you really need to ask," Paolo muttered.

Guilt. It was a totally new feeling for him. So was betrayal. He was overwhelmed as both emotions surged through his body.

They had killed the old man, and what for? For a bag of God damned diamonds?

It made sense before, why didn't it make sense now?

_**TV PRODUCER SUCCUMBS TO HEART FAILURE AT 63**_

_**SIX KILLED IN BAGHDAD ROADSIDE BLAST**_

As she jabbered away over the paper-thin cell phone, babbling incoherently to the faceless paparazzi that were searching for a unique scoop on the unraveling story that was Zuckerman's demise, Paolo found that he could not tear his eyes away from the newspaper rack that stood outside the coffee shop. Headlines, bylines, so many stories that had nothing to do with him- tragedies he couldn't prevent, victories he didn't win, crimes a whole world away from the safe confines of an Australian luxury hotel.

And then there was Zuckerman. News that wouldn't have been there if he hadn't been so greedy. If he hadn't been so thrilled at the chance to run away with his gorgeous girlfriend, believing that with the diamonds they could live together forever on a beach side resort, sipping on cocktails.

Side column stories with boldface font and italicized type, all could have been prevented. He had it memorized now: _Sydney, Australia- _Producer Howard Zuckerman, best known for his television work and philanthropy, was found dead in his hotel room at sixty-three. He felt like crossing out the word 'dead' and adding the word 'murdered.' Anything to confess, because the guilt was starting to build up. And he didn't like it.

He wasn't sure that he liked Nikki all that much anymore either.

_**SHELL-SHOCKED CAST & CREW REMEMBER ZUCKIE'S LAST DAYS: 'HAPPY, RELAXED'**_

"Of course I'd be happy to sit down for an interview, but-" and here Nikki paused, letting go a deep sigh and a sniffle- "it'll just have to wait a few days. I know, I know, but Zuckie was such a dear, dear friend and mentor. It's… it's going to be hard moving on the show without him. He _was _the show."

What the hell had he seen in her?

Frankly, his memories of the island- of the crashing plane, the gore-filled aftermath on the beach, the mysterious Others who seemed bent on psychological torture- were the last thing on his mind. Sure, he was grappling a bit with whether or not it was a dream, a hallucination, or (and he had a pretty good feeling this third option was correct) real life. Didn't matter. It had happened, he remembered it, and there was nothing he could to change it.

No, what really disturbed him was Nikki's behavior. And maybe the slightest bit his. But mostly Nikki, because after all, she was the one who chucked the spider at him.

For a bag of diamonds. It all just kept coming back to that, didn't it?

Diamonds were amazing, money even better. But in the end, all he'd wanted was her. Paolo loved her, or at least he had once, and he'd give up the rocks if it meant they stayed together. It's why he'd hidden them over and over. Because when she found them, they would be done.

She'd let the spider lose on him, two tiny pincers sinking deep into his neck, actions more reminiscent of Count Dracula then Medusa. Even then, as he was coming to regret, while the paralysis overtook him, he'd fought to make her understand. To save her.

Would she have done the same, if she was the one laying half paralyzed on the ground? Probably not, but it didn't matter. Paolo knew he wouldn't have thrown the spider at her in the first place.

At least, he thought he wouldn't.

_**REAL MADRID STILL "REELING" AFTER RESIGNATION OF MANAGER CAMACHO**_

"Paolo? Paolo, come back to earth, space cadet." Niki snapped her fingers in front of his face trying to get his attention.

"What do you want?" he mumbled.

"Get your stuff. We're leaving. I'll have Mindy book us a hotel room," she commanded, picking up only her purse. The rest of their belongings, as per usual, were left to him.

"What if I don't want to leave?"

She frowned. "What the hell crawled up your ass, Paolo?"

"A Medusa spider."

_**FAMED PRODUCER'S AUTOPSY SCHEDULED FOR MONDAY.**_

"Oh please, you're not still angry with me about that little incident," Nikki replied with a pout. Two thin fingers began twirling her hair flirtatiously, the way she always did when she wanted to get her way. She thought it was cute, seductive. It worked on Zuckerman like a charm. Worked on Paolo like a charm.

Not so much now.

"Let's see, Nik. You threw a poisonous spider at me, got me paralyzed, not to mention buried alive. That's devotion if I've ever seen it."

"Melodramatic much? Please, Paolo. You were going to steal the diamonds from me!"

"I hid the diamonds for _us _Nikki. I hid them because I loved you, because I wanted you to be with me because you loved me. What was your real plan anyway? Were you going to throw me under the bus when the police traced the poison back to you and me? Say that it was my idea, that I threatened you, forced you to help kill Zuckerman?"

Nikki didn't answer. Paolo didn't need one. Finally, after all those months of planning, months spent contemplating on the island, he had it figured out. Not only was he never going to get the diamonds, he was never going to get the girl.

In Nikki's mind, all he was getting was twenty-five to life.

_**REMEMBERING HOWIE: A LOOK BACK ON HIS LIFE AND WORKS.**_

He knew better now. Some higher power thought he deserved a second chance, and if Nikki didn't realize it, he wasn't going to say anything to her. Let her continue skipping down the road towards damnation. Paolo recognized this chance at redemption, and he was going to grab hold of it.

"Are you ready yet?" Nikki sighed impatiently. "I called Mindy, there's a limo on the way."

He looked up, one eyebrow raised, to see her diminutive figure lording above him. "I'm not going anywhere. I have a plane to catch."

She was gaping- looked like a total idiot, if Paolo was being honest. Never before had he questioned. Nikki commanded, he followed, and that was the status quo. "What the hell! I'm not getting on that plane. And if I'm not getting on the plane, you're certainly not getting on the plane.

"I'm getting on the plane."

"But… the diamonds… you… " she stuttered. Was she always this insipid? Had the beautiful, talented Nikki been a projection of his imagination? It seemed more and more likely.

"Take the goddamn diamonds, Nikki. Just take them. They don't matter anymore, don't you get it? They. Don't. Matter. We killed for these diamonds. We _died _for them. What does that say about us?" Standing, he dropped the leather pouch into her hands, feeling a sense of relief as the heavy weight of the stones fell away. "Now if you don't mind, I have a plane to catch."

Shouldering his carry-on, Paolo headed for the terminal. He still felt guilty- he had a sneaky suspicion that the guilt he felt for killing Zuckerman would never leave him- but he could redefine himself now that he was free of her.

"Paolo! What are you doing?" he heard Nikki cry behind him, almost desperate. "You can't walk out on me! You don't exist without me!"

_Actually Nikki, I do_, he thought, taking one last glance at her and the newspaper stall she stood beside.

The headlines blared back at him: Zuckerman, Zuckerman, Zuckerman. But he took comfort in the fact that, eventually, all front page stories eventually moved to the second page. And from the second page they kept moving farther and farther back, edging toward obscurity.

He didn't want the fame. He didn't want the money, and he knew that now. Like today's headline, Paolo would retreat, find new meaning, and maybe, redemption.

**So I'm really excited to hear what everybody thinks of this chapter! Nikki and Paolo were so hated, so I'm not sure how everybody will react. Don't worry, they won't be prime characters, but Nikki will be VERY important a few chapters from now.**

**I have to take some time out to thank all of you who've read, despite my incredibly slow updates! Special thanks to KaydenceRei, ShortySC22, kab16, Jennay, SimplyCuteBambi, CarolynneRuth, musical, Marla's Lost, ILoveNeil, Lyta Padfoot, eyeon, Golden-Black Dragon, hjr, DiorNicole, and Dan man for your reviews! They are greatly appreciated always! Also, I know I've been reading a couple of your stories and haven't been keeping up with reviewing- I'm hoping to get some quality reading time over Thanksgiving break, so you should be hearing from me soon!  
**

**This is the last chapter of general "before they got on the plane reactions to being back in the real world" chapters. Next chapter we're back in the states, where we'll be seeing two freighties and an other, followed by some scenes on the island, and then back to the airport, where all our favorite survivors reuinte. Coming soon: one character meets a grisly end. There are some crazy twists and turns coming, so stay tuned! Thanks for reading, and leave a review! Best wishes!  
**


	10. Essex, Massachusetts, 9:21 PM EST

**D****isclaimer: I don't own Lost or La-Z-Boy! **

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Her heels were pounding the pavement, clicking and clacking at a volume so obnoxious she was tempted to abandon them and finish the walk barefoot. Forty years ago, back in the jungle, the thought of Eloise Hawking even trying on black pump was laughable. But here in this Massachusetts college town, she'd probably end up with a hunk of glass from some drunken college students' front-lawn beer party lodged in her foot.

And that was the least of her concerns.

OOO

The anomaly recorded at The Lamppost this morning should have been a minor blip on the radar. Having manned the station for the last twenty-seven years, out of the watchful eye of the island leadership, she knew it was not uncommon. Just an electromagnetic jump, typical of the earth rotating on its axis. Besides, everything had been fixed, everything put in its proper place thanks to her unlikely alliance with Benjamin Linus.

It never occurred to her to look into it further- why should it? Jack, once he reunited with Daniel in the past, should have it all under control. He was a smart man, with the potential to be a strong leader. She'd seen it thirty years ago, when they first met trying to detonate the hydrogen bomb. Daniel would die- for the greater good, Eloise had to keep reminding herself, it was the only way to make the guilt subside- and the course of history would be corrected. Everything as it should be.

Still, as she sat down for a light supper at six in the evening, during the temperate California winter of 2008, something told Eloise to look over the maps again.

And she saw it. The location of the anomaly.

The last known location of the island.

It was impossible, simply impossible. The island was existing in two time lines. Two concurrent timelines, neither of which was in the year 2008. It was more than an electromagnetic anomaly. It was a scientific implausibility, wholly disconcerting and potentially devastating.

Pulling the maps from an hour before and an hour after the mysterious event, she began calculating. Numbers, integrated and divided, exponentials and logarithms and here and there a tangent. The results left her feeling nauseous.

Before the anomaly, there were two time lines, neither of which existed in the year that was living. Now, there was only one, in the same year as Eloise… in 2004.

Taking several deep, calming breaths, she glanced around the lab, wondering where it had all gone wrong. Did she blame Desmond Hume, who inadvertently caused the crash, wrecking havoc on the course of history? Or did the fault lie with her son, playing with the precarious nature of time itself? In all actuality, it seemed more and more likely that the blame should fall on her.

Her entire adult life, since she left the island to give birth to her son, Eloise pushed and pushed and pushed, striving to fulfill the events she witnessed as a woman in the jungle. Never once did it cross her mind, as she read her future son's journal, that she should try and change the events, try and save Daniel. No, she followed the calculations in the book, that everything that happened, happened. Let her son go traipsing off to his death, because it had to happen.

Time was an undefeatable enemy. There was no changing it.

As she boarded the first flight to Massachusetts, after pulling strings with one of Richard's liaisons that worked at LAX, she was in a state of silent panic that never showed on her stoic face.

If only she'd paid a bit more attention, all those years ago. They wouldn't all be paying for her mistakes now.

And oh, how wrong she'd been.

OOO

"Daniel! Daniel, open this door!" she shouted, her fist pounding against oak. Normally she wouldn't allow herself to become this agitated, but Eloise couldn't fix this without him. "Daniel, this is your mother, open the door."

"Ms Hawking?" Caroline, Daniel's nurse opened the door. "He told me not to let you in. He said he knew you were coming… I don't know how."

Eloise held her tongue, as a tirade explaining how the fate of the world was in their hands nearly slipped out. Instead, she asked, "How is he?"

Caroline shook her head. "It's the strangest thing. He was in a daze these past few weeks, even worse than after he lost Theresa. Then suddenly, just about an hour ago, he snapped out of it. He's been incredibly lucid, his memories are intact. Eloise, I don't understand it."

"Please, you have to let me in. It's a matter of the utmost urgency. It's absolutely crucial he see what I've brought with me." She indicated the pile of papers in her hand.

"Well, you have flown here all the way from California…" Caroline said, opening the door to allow her in. "I'll make myself scarce, give you two some privacy."

"Thank you." She was genuinely grateful.

The house was neat and well, just as Eloise expected it to be. As she moved through the foyer into the living room, she saw the top of Daniel's head peaking over the camel colored La-Z-Boy recliner. "Did she leave Caroline?" he asked softly.

"I need your help Daniel."

He stood up and spun around, an action that in the original 2004, Daniel would never have been able to coordinate. Despite the angry, almost damning, look in his eyes, Eloise could not deny the joy she felt that her son was alive. Moreover, he looked healthy, the healthiest she had seen him since she sent him off to university to play with time. She was overwhelmed.

"You need my help? Here, I'm standing still. Shoot me now; we can avoid the whole 'the magical island is your destiny' thing this time around."

"Daniel-"

"Were you two in on it together? You and that man, Widmore? Are you two playing some sort of quantum game? Because I truly don't understand it. What do you stand to gain, other than watching those people on 815 get tortured over and over in this endless time loop? How many times has this happened before, Mother? How many times don't we remember? The variables, the constants- is it all some sort of joke? Do you laugh, each time the course is reset?"

He hadn't shown this much emotion since Theresa. Eloise could have cried, she was so happy. For all she pushed and pushed, fulfilling destiny, somewhere along the way she lost the little boy whose eyes lit up bright at the keys of a piano. Daniel was alive again.

"I never once lied to you. Not intentionally," she said softly. Pausing, she composed herself, preparing to admit to her son that her own mistake had caused this. "Something's gone horribly wrong, and I fear it's my fault."

"Because I'm alive?" he asked.

"Because we're in 2004 and we all remember! I remember what Jack told me, thirty years ago. The bomb was supposed to set the time course straight, and erase our memories of all that occurred. It didn't happen. I assure you, Daniel, we are not the only ones who remember. The key players in the events of the last three years, the key players in our story since Flight 815 crashed, all remember. I've done the calculations."

She held her notes up, knowing her eyes must reveal her desperation. "Wherever they are, whatever they were doing at this very moment in the first 2004, your friends are waking up with every memory of their life on the island. And for those that were still alive when that bomb went off, they're going to be disoriented, because you told them they wouldn't remember."

Daniel walked over to her, taking the papers from her hand. His eyes skimmed quickly over the lines and lines of equations. "I don't understand. These calculations are all correct. The variables are right, the constants are right. Everything should have gone as planned."

Eloise shook her head. "No," she said as she removed a pen from her purse. "I went back through everything I gave you. Everything you based your theory on. It's not your fault."

"Your point?" He looked confused, lost.

Taking a deep breath, she prepared to admit her mistake. A mistake so basic, so avoidable, so destructive, she was certain it would haunt her until she died. Eloise knew she'd never be able to forgive herself. For the lifetime of misery she'd caused Daniel, the passengers of 815.

And all because she thought she had to fulfill the events of her youth.

"Everything would have gone according to plan, based on these calculations. But these calculations aren't correct."

In front of the first equation, the equation she'd taught him as a child, from which all of Daniel's life research had been derived from, she drew a negative sign.

Looking up, she saw her son staring back, horrified. "The constants and the variables never mattered, Daniel. Because it's the equation that's been wrong the whole time."

* * *

The phone was ringing, loud and obnoxious. _God damn, _Miles thought, pulling the blankets over his head. _What the hell was I high on when I told Horace that putting the phone there was a good idea._

Rolling over, he picked the phone up momentarily, before plopping it back down on the base. Through his closed eyes, he could sense the sun was just setting- or was it rising? It had to be too early to be on guard duty. If he was late, Sawyer- no, Jim now, he had to remind himself- would come get him.

Adjusting the pillow, Miles prepared to return to his lovely, long sleep.

The phone rang again.

"Damnit, Jim," he grumbled into the phone as he sat up in his bed, slowly opening his eyes. "I don't have to be at the Arrow til tonight. Jesus, let me sleep!"

"Miles, it's Daniel."

He nearly dropped the phone. Rubbing the gunk out of his eyes, he took the time to actually take in his surroundings. It was his bedroom. At his house. In Encino. There were no jumpsuits, the phone wasn't a rotary dial, and, thank the lord, he had a flat screen TV again.

"Miles are you there? Something's gone terribly wrong."

"No way, really? I thought time travel was an everyday sort of thing. What the hell is going on?" Frankly, this whole situation was creeping him the hell out. And he hadn't even had a chance to properly digest it all.

"Listen, I need you to go to LAX. Reserve a room; say it's for a business meeting. An urgent business meeting. When Flight 815 arrives, I need you to gather all the passengers that remember the events of the island. My mother and I are flying in on the next flight out of Boston. I'll explain everything then."

"Dude! How am I supposed to do that? Half the survivors were dead by the time we got there!" he asked.

He was starting to regret ever meeting Naomi. And for Miles to regret meeting a woman as smoking hott as Naomi, it had to be bad.

"You'll think of something. I have to finish these calculations. We need to know what we're up against. See you in a few hours."

_Oh joy_. Peering at the clock, he realized he still had almost fifteen hours before the plane landed. Setting the alarm, he pulled the pillow back over his head.

_Shit, _Miles thought as he let sleep overtake him_. I'd give twenty bucks to be stuck back on guard duty with Radzinsky and the crazy train right now. _

_

* * *

  
_

**Okay! So definitely a lot of science going on in this chapter. I tried to keep it simple, but being a science person, I sometimes get a little overexcited, so if it seems a bit nutso, I apologize! I hope it all kind of makes sense! And my goodness, Eloise Hawking is a tough character to write! Miles was definitely fun though. **

**A little aside from the last chapter: a few people asked me who Mindy is, and I realized I should have written that somewhere. Mindy is a character I made up. She's Nikki's personal assistant, someone who makes all the plans so Nikki has to do no work. So I hope that clears up any confusion! **

**Thank you, as always, to everyone who took the time out to read, and especially to all of you who reviewed: DiorNicole, Dan man, ShortySC22, im so lost, SimplyCuteBambi, Lyta Padfood, KaydenceRei, Mari Braveheart, and Marla's Lost. You're all super awesome!**

**Anyways, in our next outting, we'll finally be catching up with our favorite future-seeing, crash causing castaway, Desmond! Following chapter, we return to the airport, where our survivors are starting to reach the gate for 815, decisions are being made, and frightening events are occurring. Happy Thanksgiving to everyone who celebrates! Leave a review on your way out! Best wishes- Jac  
**


	11. The Swan, Time Unknown

**Disclaimer: Lost is still not mine! "The End of the World" was sung by the Carpenters.  
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Charlie was crying.

Rolling over, an effort that caused only the slightest tinge of pain in his chest where Ben Linus shot him, Desmond was tempted to ignore Penny's strict orders to remain in bed and rest. He felt guilty leaving her to care for both him and their toddler son, as well as maintain their little houseboat. Still, he couldn't risk hurting himself further. They'd been found once. They could be found again, and his wife and son were depending on him to keep them safe.

Desmond stretched, trying to ease his strained muscles, and reached for his wife. "Pen, the baby's cryin'."

His hand hit the bed without ever touching his wife. He was alone. "Pen?" Was she already up and feeding Charlie? Maybe he wasn't feeling well and just being fussy. "Penny?"

The baby was still crying, and she wasn't responding. Desmond felt his stomach drop down, that feeling of weightless freefall taking over him. Something was wrong.

Rubbing his eyes open with the calloused palm of his hand, he found himself breathless. A weight fell upon his chest, so heavy and painful it felt as if someone had grabbed his lungs and was squeezing them shut, twisting them every which way.

This sure as hell wasn't home.

Standing hesitantly, he prayed he was caught in a dream over and over and over. He moved away from the bed, slowly and still barely lucid after coming out of a deep sleep. Metallic walls, thick and aged, barricaded him from the outdoors, blocking all sunlight and moonlight. He really had no idea know what time of day it was. The cry kept sounding. "Waa…. Waa… waa…"

This had to be a nightmare. Baby Charlie had never been in the hatch. There was no way he could be in the hatch.

And he wasn't. Because as he drew closer, Desmond realized

_Waa…_

_ Waa…_

_ Why…_

_ Why…_

_ Why… _

The record player was skipping; the baby's cry just his brain playing tricks on him. Picking up the arm, he placed it down ahead of where it had stopped on the old black record. Karen Carpenter's voice filled the empty room, "Why does the sun go on shining? Why does the sea rush the shore…"

Who had turned it on?

And what the hell kind of practical joke was this?

Desmond did the only thing he could think of. He closed his eyes and pinched himself. Hard.

"Ah, thanks for fixing that, Des. Karen was a fine lookin' woman, way back in the day. Would have given my left foot to meet her, much less spend a night with her. Shame she went and killed herself. Oh well, not an unpleasant way to wake up, 'specially when you've got a hangover."

It wasn't a dream.

As Desmond opened his eyes, he saw Kelvin stepping out of the steam-fogged bathroom, one towel slung around his waist, another being rubbed through his hair. Just like any normal day, like nothing was out of the ordinary and all the world was right and plugging along as usual.

"You alright there, Des? " A hand was waving in front of his face. "Been standing there catching flies a while now. Don't go nuts like Radzinsky on me. It'd be a damned shame. What, did you have too much to drink last night too? Hope we didn't run out of Dharma beer… how long til the next food drop?"

"I'm… I'm fine…" he managed to stutter out. Kelvin was alive. Kelvin didn't remember anything from the last few days of his life.

The last few days… _oh bloody hell…_

"What day is it?"

Kelvin turned and smiled as he walked toward his room. "Does it matter? We're here, we're alive. Just another day in not-quite-paradise."

"I asked you what day it is, brother." He could hear the anger and rage, built up out of frustration, edging into his voice.

"Lord almighty, what has gotten into you today Desmond? Check the calendar, I marked the date off, didn't even stop to look at the number. It's written right there if you need to know so badly." With that, he turned into his room to get dressed, shaking his head at the insanity of it all.

And it was insane.

Because when Desmond looked at the calendar, it didn't read January. Oh no, it didn't even read 2008. The first date after the red X's, so carefully written in marker by Kelvin since 1992, was September 22, 2004.

Maybe being back in the hatch, talking with Kelvin, maybe that wasn't the dream

Maybe the dream was his escape. He never married Penny. His son had never existed, never even had a chance to exist. It was never a reality, only a story he cooked up in his head after a night of drinking. Projected in his mind, so lifelike, so real that he could reach out and touch it.

Then just like that it was snapped away.

Again.

But that was what the island did. It took and took and took, until a man reaches his breaking point. Til he contemplates such desperate measures, considers them the only viable option he has left.

As he looked at the calendar and recognized the date, Desmond was contemplating it once again. Just as he had that dark night, just two weeks in the future. A miracle had happened, and a fist pounded on the hatch, telling him that for the first time in years, he was not alone. There was hope.

At least, that was how he dreamt it.

But that was a dream, and now there was no hope.

_Beep…. beep… beep…_

The countdown was ticking down again, closer and closer to the end of that all too brief one hundred and eight minutes. His life before his eyes, perfectly sliced up into one hundred and eight minute fragments.

_Could just let it go. Let the electro-magnetic-whatever explode. Nothin' happened, except for the destruction of the hatch. Really, what would the harm be? _

Desmond typed in the numbers quickly, striking the return key with vigor. It was only a dream. Who knew what would happen if real life if he let the time run out?

If he was dead, there was no chance of reuniting with Penny.

_Brother, you're alive and breathin' right now, _the rational side of his brain said,_ and there's still no chance of you reunitin' with Penny. You're trapped here. There's no escapin', cause this soddin' island won't ever let you leave. Why even bother tryin'?_

The thought overcame him, devastating him, and he longed to pull out that last letter he had from her. To read it over and over, memorize the words again. Because he knew that this was it. He would die on this island, without her, without ever getting to love her and marry her and have a child with her. Without growing old together, their boat floating in and out of distance ports.

It would never happen.

He sunk into the chair before the computer screen, eyes glazing over with tears of grief. To the real world, Desmond Hume was gone. He was lost. An optimist would hope that Penny would wait, just as she wrote in her letter, tucked into the front page of _Our Mutual Friend_.

The growing pessimist told him she was long gone, married to another man, better than him. One that had more sense than to run off and sail a boat around the world to prove his love. If only he'd thought this plan through…

If only a lot of things.

Kelvin stepped out of his room, wearing his canary yellow HAZMAT suit. "Going out to collect some samples, Des. You sure you're feeling alright?"

"Just fine, brother," Desmond replied, forcing cheer and half a smile.

As he walked out of the Hatch, Desmond saw the tear in Kelvin's suit. Just like in his dream.

Maybe it was a premonition? Was he headed out toward the half-repaired Elizabeth? Or was he really collecting samples. Desmond's imagination was running wild with the possibilities.

_It was just a dream. Kelvin is only collectin' samples. Stop foolin' yourself, Desmond Hume. You're trapped here. _ This _is your reality now. Face the facts._

_ But there's always a chance._

As the door slammed shut, Desmond contemplated following. His thoughts ran wild. Would he find the boat? Would he kill Kelvin and crash the plane.

He couldn't crash the plane.

Desmond didn't even know if Flight 815 existed outside his vivid imagination, but if he let that plane crash again, allowed Charlie and Claire to get trapped on this island, he would never forgive himself. Steal their lives away from them again for his own personal gain?

No he couldn't.

Even if it meant he never got off this island.

Even if it mean he never saw his Penny again.

So as the time counter flipped to one hundred and four, Desmond went to the bookshelf and grabbed his copy of _Our Mutual friend. _He eased back into the desk chair to wait and contemplate and beg forgiveness.

Because in one hundred and four minutes, Desmond would ensure that none of the passengers of Oceanic 815 had to relive the horrors they faced on the island.

And in one hundred and five minutes, Desmond Hume would be dead.

A spot of blood on the ceiling, just like good old Radzinsky.

* * *

**Well, I went for another dark chapter! Desmond is in a dark spot. But will the efforts he's taking to make sure 815 doesn't crash again work? And will I actually kill him off ? **

** Thanks so much to everyone who took the time out to read the last chapter, and especially to those reviewers: musical, DiorNicole, makealist, Jennay, Erica (times three!), eternallove-17, Golden-Black Dragon, SimplyCuteBambi, Marla's Lost, CarolynneRuth, kab16 (times two!), and Lyta Padfoot! Your words are greatly appreciated!**

** Next chapter we're back to the airport, where our survivors have been reunited. Decisions will be made, a phone call will be received, and the danger begins! **


	12. Gate 440, 2:30 PM

**Disclaimer: Lost is still not mine! Neither are any of the pop culture references!**

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"Get up Ford, you're outta here," the security officer said, jangling keys as he opened the cell door. Sawyer looked to his right, where Kate was now sleeping against the wall of the holding cell. She'd have a crick in her neck when the Marshall came for her.

Better to focus on that then to focus on their current situation.

"Well say-yo-nara then, Crocodile Hunter."

He stood, swaggering toward the door into the airport with confidence he really didn't have. Under his breath, he heard the guard mutter, "Good riddance… bloody American…"

The bright fluorescent lights took a moment to adjust to, considering the dimness of the security office, and Sawyer blinked several times. The airport was bustling, but no one recognized him. In a way he was almost grateful.

To say he was concerned for the other 815 passengers was true- especially when it came to those who'd made it back to Dharma. Jin, Hurley, hell even the good ol' Iraqi, they had grown on him. But his number one priority was Jules, despite the fact that there was ever indication that she was gone.

He couldn't thing about that now- he had to figure out what exactly had happened after the bomb went off. _You can do this. Just find everybody. That's the key to it all, find the people who remember. _

At least he had an idea where to start. Kate remembered, and according to her, Jack did to. That meant everyone present when the bomb detonated probably had some sort of memory. But what about Rose, Bernard, and the dog? They were on the island, but not at the blast site.

Then there were the dead. Michael, Boone, Libby, Charlie. Would they be waiting at the gate? And after that, the special circumstances. Charlotte, whose corpse was lost somewhere in ancient times during the flashes. Claire, who up and disappeared into the night, never to be heard of again. What would become of them?

Sawyer rubbed his pounding forehead, trying to push aside his overriding fear that Juliet may not have made it back to the… well, the now-present. That dead might really be dead, and she didn't have a chance. _Forget it for now, boy. Make a plan. Find everybody from Dharma first. Then work from there._

For a moment, Sawyer couldn't help but laugh. _Thinkin' like the doc now, ain't you James. All analytical, makin' a battle plan. Maybe that's what the bomb did, we switched personalities all Freaky Friday like. Bet he's connin' some old lady out of a ticket to LA on a different flight._

OOO

Jack wasn't conning.

He was watching.

For the last two hours, he'd sat near the gate from which Flight 815 would depart, hidden from view by a large potted palm that separated the two. Locke sat in his wheel chair, looking incredibly serene for a man who had just come back from the dead and discovered he'd once again lost his ability to walk. He was chatting jovially with Frank Lapidus.

For a moment, Jack was tempted to think that Locke didn't remember. But then how would he know Frank? Why would they be so easy with each other if they weren't already acquainted?

Confirmation that Locke did, indeed, remember, came shortly after, when Sun and Jin arrived at the gate. Frank rose from his seat, shaking hands with Jin and embracing Sun. Locke nodded his hello, which Sun returned hesitantly, suspicion in her eyes.

Frank shook his head. "Don't you remember the corpse? It wasn't him on the island. His last memory is dying, Sun. That's Locke. Real Locke."

"Have you seen Sawyer?" Jin asked, his English still easy- another sign that everything had really happened.

Frank shook his head. "Haven't seen Jack either. Would you blame them if they didn't show up?"

"Sawyer will show up." Jin said with certainty.

"And Jack?" Locke asked. He perked up when he heard his name. Did Locke still value his leadership, even after their great jungle schism? They had never agreed, never once seemed to be on the same page regarding their island destinies. Why was Locke the one that cared?

"Sawyer will show up," Jin repeated, firm and decisive.

It was all Jack needed to here. The failed reset was the final straw. In the eyes of those who'd lasted- those who'd survived long enough to witness the freighter explosion, his off-island breakdown, the failed reset of the timeline- Sawyer was their leader. The hero. And Jack was just the man on the sideline. The man who failed. Moody, brooding, and a hell of a lot like the Sawyer that picked a fight with Sayid just hours after the crash.

All he ever wanted to do was fix things. To save them all.

That was up to Sawyer now. Jack hoped he was up to the challenge.

OOO

"Wait up!"

Fighting the crowds of the bustling airport, Sawyer ignored the shout, figuring it was just another family separated in the chaos. How was he supposed to find anyone in a mess like this? He'd be lucky as hell if he found the right gate at this rate.

"Wait up!"

Damn, couldn't those parents keep an eye on their kids? Didn't that qualify as neglect or something. And, son of a bitch, was it possible for that business man to move any slower? Who makes a business deal while wandering through the airport?

"Sawyer! You jackass! Wait!"

Oh, he knew that voice. Blonde hair on a pair of toothpick legs. Shannon and Boone were trying to catch up with him, Shannon barely able to walk in her high heels. She had that look of perpetual annoyance on her face, but now crossed with a twinge of a smile. "Jesus, I thought Bonehead was going to give me an asthma attack trying to catch you. What the hell happened after we died?"

"You remember?"

"Hell yes we remember! I got crushed by a plane! Kind of hard to forget," Boone added.

Sawyer shook his head, comprehension escaping him. "I'll explain later. We gotta get to the gate and figure out what's goin' on."

The trio moved silently through the airport, Sawyer practically snarling at those who stood in his way, scaring a path clear. And when finally they reached the waiting area, he gasped in surprise. They were there. They had gathered. Michael and Walt, Sun and Jin, Ana, Hurley, Eko, Paolo, Sayid, and the others. They had gathered, chatting among themselves. Catching up, like they were old friends meeting by chance.

He heard Shannon's gasp before he saw the look of panic on her face. Following her line of vision, he saw her looking at Sayid, who in turn was staring at a photograph in his hand. Sawyer didn't know who it was, but apparently Shannon did.

"I can't do this Boone."

"What?"

"I can't get on the plane. I can't."

"Shannon, of course you can get on the plane," Boone said calmly, once against reminding Sawyer how much the island had changed them all. In the first few days after the crash, a disagreement like this would start an argument worthy of Judge Judy's deliberation between the step-siblings.

"No. Not like this. I can't do this. Listen, I'm gonna go back to the hotel. I'll reserve a room until the next plane going to LA comes through. Do some self-reflection or whatever. Or party. Partying's good. Just not this flight."

"I'll stay with you!" Boone insisted.

"No! No, don't change your plans. Just please. I just need… I need time to accept that it's over. That it was just on the island, just the circumstances that we met under. Boone I can't get on that plane knowing that when we get off, it will be the last time I ever see him. Please, try and understand…"

Boone nodded, and Sawyer grabbed her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "He's a fool if he don't chose you Sticks," he said before wandering away. This was obviously meant to be a private conversation.

Behind him he heard Shannon ask, "Jesus, there's a personality change…"

He sighed, before sighting the person he wanted to speak to. "Hey Jin! What's the situation?"

The Korean man smiled before shaking his hand. "We've been waiting for you!"

OOO

Hidden behind the plant, Jack continued to listen in as Sawyer spoke to the twenty or so Oceanic passengers that had gathered. No one had asked for him. No one even seemed to notice that he was missing.

Sawyer was talking, explaining. Bringing everyone who'd died or disappeared up to date with the events that had occurred.

It should have been him. But he was weak, and he had failed all of them. Sawyer hadn't.

"Jack? Why are you over here?"

Confused, and pregnant as ever, Claire stared at him with her hands resting on her enormous belly. He shrugged his shoulder in response, not wanting to admit his jealousy, or his self loathing.

"We're all over there. Everyone who remembers, that is. Sawyer explained what happened when I was… well when I was somewhere. You should come over too. He can't do it all on his own."

Jack shook his head. "I screwed it up Claire. I can't be responsible anymore. This is all my fault."

"Really?" she snorted, looking at him incredulously. "Then I suppose the plane crash was your fault? You took out the pilots and steered us right down into the middle of the jungle? Do you hold yourself in such high esteem that every mistake just has to be your fault. That, Jack, is your one true fault. Sawyer's holding his own over there, but there are still some doubters. Rose and Bernard, Ana, Charlie… they all have their doubts because they never saw Sawyer at his best. You have. You can vouch for him."

He was in awe of his sister. He was certain she'd never spoken so harshly to anyone else before, but it was just the reality check he needed.

Maybe he wasn't the hero. He wasn't the leader. But they did need him. Sawyer needed him, if only to give him some backup and support.

"You gonna keep the pregnant girl standing here?" she asked with a smirk.

As they entered the waiting area, Jack felt all eyes upon him, staring. He squirmed under the scrutiny, especially Sawyer's. Everyone was there, he saw, with the exception of Kate and Shannon.

"What do you think of all this, Jack?" Charlie asked. "Sawyer thinks we should all get back on the bloody death plane. I'd like to hear your opinion."

He mulled the question over, carefully contemplating how to respond. He didn't want to offend or cause more discord. "I agree with Sawyer. He knows what he's talking about. I'll be getting on the plane in a few hours."

Across the room, Sawyer nodded his thanks.

OOO

"Paging passenger Jim LaFleur. Jim LaFleur, please report to the nearest Oceanic Airlines counter."

Sawyer felt his head shoot up in surprise, before he even had time to full comprehend what had been said. Jim LaFleur? Who the hell knew him as Jim LaFleur, besides those gathered at the gate with him?

"Paging passenger Jim LaFleur…"

He glanced around the crowd of passengers, when his eyes met Hurley's, who looked just as shocked. "Dude, that's you. Dharma you."

"You think?" He heard the sarcasm edging into his voice, when all he wanted to do was ask someone, anyone, what he should do. God, how was he supposed to lead them all?

_You led us at Dharma, didn't you? You kept us alive for three years, James. You can do this. _Juliet's voice filled his ears, bringing him comfort. He'd believed in her when she helped Amy give birth, and somewhere out there in the world, Juliet believed that he would find her. He would save her. He knew it.

"Listen up!" he said loudly, capturing the attention of the others. "Jim LaFleur. That's me. It was the name I used back at Dharma, which means only one thing. Someone else from the island is alive, and still remembers. Someone who maybe can tell us what the hell's going on. I'm gonna go talk to them. Now, I don't know if the plane is crash or not, and I doubt if anyone does, so if you ain't gonna get on, I can't stop you. But if you're gonna leave, I want a way to get in touch with you. Gimme an address, a phone number, a hotel room. Cause the only people we can depend on is each other. And if somethin' goes wrong, I wanna be able to reach you. Lar--- Hurley, you and the Doc start collectin' names of the people leavin'. I'll be back."

Sawyer walked to the counter, leaving the rest to their own devices. He knew he could depend on Hurley… and Jack? Well, Jack looked like a sad wounded puppy. It made him feel slightly satisfied, seeing the Doc like that, so muted and uncertain, without the hero-God complex. He hated himself a little for feeling that way.

"'Scuse me ma'am. Said you were lookin' for Jim LaFleur?"

The perky blonde Oceanic representative smiled brightly. "Yes! Are you him?"

"That's why I'm standin' here."

Her smile widened even more, and deep inside Sawyer wondered if she was using excessive happiness to compensate for excessive annoyance with the obnoxious airline passengers. Like any moment she'd snap, jump over the counter, and strangle him.

"Phone call for you, sir. We don't normally allow this, but It's your commanding officer. A British woman from the SS Lighthouse. Didn't know the let Brits in the US Navy, learn something every day. Say, don't Navy officers normally travel in uniform?"

The Navy? He was certain his confusion would give the truth away. "Uh… not me. But I'm Petty Officer Jim LaFleur… that's me.

She fluttered her eyelashes and gave him a salute. _Ugh, she thinks she's cute. _ "You can step behind the counter if you want. Most of the time I won't allow it, but for you…"

"The phone?" He held out his hand.

Her smile faded. "Of course sir."

"It's about bloody time."

He knew this voice. Only last time he heard it, it was fifty years ago.

"Mr. Ford, I don't know if you remember me. Frankly, I barely remember you. Thankfully my son Daniel has filled me in on your little predicament. I need you to listen to me carefully. No time for questions now. We'll take care of questions once you reach Los Angeles. Just listen. Do you understand?"

"Alright," he acquiesced. At this point, all he could go on was faith and trust that this woman would hold up her end of the bargain.

"You will be met in Los Angeles by a friend of Daniel's, a Mr. Miles Straume. He has reserved a conference room for you all at the airport. Follow him. My son and I will be flying in from Cambridge tonight. I cannot tell you much now, we are still trying to figure it all out. But suffice it to say, it is _imperative_ that everyone who remembers gets on the plane. Dropping a nuclear missile may allow you to change history, but only so much of it. For those who do not get on the plane, the consequences will be… disastrous. I don't care how you get them on, just make sure they board. Do you understand Mr. Ford?"

He felt his stomach drop as he responded with a quiet, "Yes." Then he paused. "What do you mean disastrous?"

"Is there a television playing the news nearby?"

"Lady, it's an airport. Of course there is."

"Was there a Nikki Rodriguez on your flight?"

He stopped to think. The actress, with the boyfriend… Pablo? "Yeah, there was."

"Go watch the news, Mr. Ford. I will speak to you in LA." The woman hung of the phone, leaving him gaping.

Shaking his head, he hurried back to the waiting area.

OOO

"OH GOD! OH MY GOD! NIKKI!"

It was the first indication to Jack that all was not well.

Staring up at the television screen, Paulo was weeping bitterly as the news station flashed the words "breaking news." Rose had hurried over, fussing over him, taking his hand like a mother. In the headline at the bottom of the screen, Jack quickly read the words:

"AMERICAN ACTRESS NIKKI RODRIGUEZ KILLED IN TRAGIC CAR ACCIDENT OUTSIDE SYDNEY AIRPORT."

"What happened?" Sawyer asked, grabbing him by the shoulder tightly.

In shock, he pointed at the television screen, which Sawyer quickly read, face blanching. "Son of a bitch."

"What's the matter?"

Jack's question was lost as Sawyer sprang into action. "Hurley, how many people backed off the flight."

"No one dude. Not after yours and Jack's speech. Even convinced Claire and Charlie to get on."

"Where's Boone?"

The young man's head shot up. "What's up?"

"You got a way to contact your sister? Cell phone or something?"

He shook his head. "She doesn't have an international phone anymore. Threw it out at the hotel this morning, said she didn't need it anymore."

"Shit!"

"Sawyer," Jack said, calm as he could. "What's going on?"

Sawyer shook his head, the panic evident in his eyes. "On the phone… it was Daniel's mother. I met her back in the 50's, during the flashes."

"You talked to Eloise?"

"You know her?" He didn't even wait for an answer. "She said that everyone had to board the plane this afternoon. That the consequences would be disastrous for anyone who didn't."

"So?" Jack asked.

"Paulo! Was Nikki getting on the plane?" he called over his shoulder to the weeping man.

"No… no she refused to get on board. She was returning to the hotel." Paulo wiped the tears from his eyes, trying to regain himself.

"We gotta find Shannon, Jack. The island ain't done with us, Doc. We may not be there anymore, but we still gotta do what it wants. What it wants is for all of us to get on that plane. Only one person doesn't know that. Shannon. She was going to leave. And if she don't find her before she leaves the airport, she's going to die."

"WHAT!" was simultaneously heard from two voices. Boone was standing, looking terrified, and beside him was Sayid. His eyes were filled with anguish.

"We have to find her," Sawyer said. "We have to find her."

Without another word, Sayid was off, running through the airport at top speed.

Jack was right behind him.

He would not allow disaster to strike them again.

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**W****ow, if you made it through this chapter… what can I say? Thank you so much for sticking with this story. I know it's been quite a while since I updated. After going home for Christmas and seeing my family for the first time in a long time, I came back to my new home fully expecting to have time to do some writing. Quite the opposite! I've picked my PhD thesis lab, and have been putting in 11-12 hour days, 7 days a week getting a start on my project. Add in classes on top of that… yeah, writing hasn't been happening all that much. So once again, I give you my sincere thanks- for sticking with the story, for your patience between chapters, and for coming back each time. You have no idea how much it means to me!**

**Special thanks to all those who reviewed the last chapter- Korydwen (times two!), CarolynneRuth, musical, Dan man, justawritier, Mari Braveheart, Atherosclerosis, and Golden-Black Dragon.**

**Next chapter will be Sayid centric. And then I believe will be the take off of the plane, then back to the island. I've figured out where I want to go with this story. It'll be divided into two sections, the first being the immediate aftermath (what your reading now) and the second being… well you'll just have to wait and see! Suffice it to say, I'm excited.**

**No promises on when the next chapter will be up. I'm entering the most hellish part of the semester through the beginning of April. Hopefully soon. Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated! All the best!**


	13. Sydney Airport, 2:45 PM

**Disclaimer: It's still not mine! **

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Sayid Jarrah was not the type of man to be rash. His whole life- every moment, every movement- was calculated and well planned. Like the mechanics of a radio, it was pieced together. Decisions made, decisions sometimes regretted and mused over, but in the end, what was done was done, and only come the final judgment would his fate be known.

At least that's what he'd come to think, as a young man. Life had proven him wrong, and in so many ways. Now he wondered if any part of it was in his control.

He believed in destiny. He believed in fate. And he believed in man's ability to change both, once upon a time. The growing vault of evidence was leading him to think differently.

Nadia sentenced to death in the jail cell, forcing him to choose between betrayal of the country and the woman he loved.

Shannon on the beach, in his arm as she slept, in his arms as she died.

Nadia waiting at the door following their interview, a new life together, and a murder.

A punishment for his past misgivings? It was the only rational answer, the only possible explanation of the hell he was living through. There was no chance for him. Fate seemed to enjoy toying with him, dangling forgiveness and a chance for peace in front of him, like the ball of yarn dancing and bouncing just out of reach of the cat. Forever reaching out, trying to touch it, and failing.

Punish him for his sins, he would take it gladly.

_Just don't punish her again… _he thought, slowing from a jog to a power walk as he approached a kiosk, praying he hadn't aroused any suspicion within the airport. He knew how it would seem, if people noticed- a Middle Eastern man running through the airport.

"Jack!"

The doctor reached him, as did Boone, who had started out several steps ahead of Sayid. He felt the adrenaline rushing through him, the sheer urgency of the situation giving him more strength than he'd felt in years.

"Boone, do you know where your sister was planning to go?"

"Back to the hotel, I think," the younger man said. His eyes clearly conveyed worry, akin to what Sayid was feeling at that moment.

_Think Sayid. Stop worrying and think…_

"She would need a taxi, correct?"

Boone nodded, his shaggy hair falling over his eyes.

Skimming the light-up airport floor plan on one of the kiosk panels, he ran his fingers along the edges of the building, locating the exits. "Here. We have three exits from which taxis are departing. We will find Shannon there if-" He stopped himself.

He couldn't say the words, couldn't put the idea out there, even though at this point it could be the truth of the matter. "We _will _find her there."

The confidence he instilled in his voice was false. It didn't fool his companions, either.

"What I miss, Doc?" Sawyer joined the group, throwing an arm around Boone's shoulder in support, though his manner was care free, almost calming. Sayid couldn't help but reminisce to those first days on the beach, a resonant normalcy he almost missed.

"Sawyer, I want you to go to the east exit, Jack to the west. Boone and I shall go to the north exit. Shannon would have to go to one of those three if she wanted to find a taxi." He felt as if he was ordering troops into battle. In a way, he was. A fight for the woman he…

Loved? Cared for? Deep friendship?

No, it was more than the last. Friendship was not what he felt for Shannon Rutherford. He loved her.

Yet he loved Nadia too.

Once he contemplated life in a world without them both. Now he had to reconcile being in a world where both of them were still alive and well.

"How will we know if someone finds her?" Jack asked. "I hate to say this, but we don't have much time before the plane boards, and we need to be on it, or else we're as good as dead too. Boone's the only one with a working cell phone…" His face looked pained, and Sayid knew he felt remorse for even suggesting the possibility they would not find her.

He'd seen it when Jack joined the group- the doctor was a broken man, perhaps as broken as he was.

"Half an hour," he replied quickly, glancing at the other three men. "We meet back here in half an hour, whether we find her or not. From there we will discuss further action."

Boone's shoulders sunk, and Sayid wanted to reach out and comfort the boy. They had their share of problems on the island- had the _ever _gotten along?- but now he saw Boone for what he was. A scared, young boy, terrified for his sisters life.

"We'll find her, Metro," Sawyer said, the nickname once again bringing a sense of familiarity to the group. "Half an hour."

OOO

The north entrance was farther than he realized, and by the time he and Boone reached it, seven minutes had already passed, cutting into the time they had to find Shannon. He took pleasure in a small piece of luck, that fewer airlines had counters at this end of the entry way. The crowds were less dense, and movement was easier.

His eyes roved over the crowds, and he was convinced at any moment he would be taken away for his suspicious behavior.

"Do we split up?" Boone asked, his eyes covering the ground that Sayid had not already observed.

"Yes, we can cover more ground. This terminal is larger than the other two, even if it is emptier. We start from the exit and work our way around to where we entered. Twenty minutes, we meet there and go find Jack and Sawyer."

Boone nodded, and the two approached the doors. The younger man immediately began making his way around the perimeter of the terminal, checking phone booths and restaurant lines, despite the fact that they both knew Shannon would rather be dead than caught buying fast food.

The colloquialism seemed so vulgar, considering the circumstances, but remembering Shannon refusing Boone's offer of a candy bar their first night on the island brought a smile to Sayid's face.

He doubled back, following the example set by Boone, leaving no corner of the airport unexamined.

"SHANNON!" he shouted, concern for his own well being left far behind.

"SHAN!" Boone's voice rose over the crowd.

"SHANNON!"

"Sir, are you missing someone? Can I help you?" He hadn't noticed the Army reserve officer on patrol. The young man, maybe only twenty or twenty-one, stepped in his path, blocking his route.

_Patience, _he reminded himself quickly.

"My… my girlfriend is missing. No, not missing… she wandered off, our flight leaves shortly, and I don't know if she's aware of it. She doesn't even have her cell phone on her." He ran a hand through his hair.

"Follow me please, sir," the young man said, his voice a perfect monotone. Sayid felt his heart sink. There wasn't much time before he had to meet the others…

He led him to a desk. "What's her name?"

"Shannon Rutherford."

"And where do you want her to meet you?"

"At the kiosk, where the four terminals intersect."

The soldier smiled. "I'll send up an announcement for you. It'll be easier than searching these crowds for her. Should be a few minutes."

Sayid thanked him profusely, mentally scolding himself for his utter stupidity. It had been so long since he and the others had depended on outsiders- the island had forced them to adapt, to become wholly self-sufficient- that it never occurred to him to stop and ask for an announcement.

Still, if she left, if she wasn't paying attention… He felt a renewed sense of urgency now as he dodged passengers and suitcases, continuing his search. If she didn't show up at the kiosk after the announcement, he could only assume the worst.

"Sayid! Anything?"

"They're going to announce her name over the loudspeaker. Now come on, we have to keep—"

The younger man shook his head. "It's been thirty minutes. We have to meet Jack and Sawyer."

"We have to find her!"

"Sayid!" Boone shouted. Heads around them snapped around, and they received more than a few strange looks. "Don't you think I want to keep looking too? You said they're going to announce her name. Good. That's a start. And there are two other terminals that we haven't even looked at. How do you know that they haven't found—"

Suddenly, the elevator music that had been playing over the airport loudspeakers stopped. "Attention all travelers, would Shannon Rutherford please report to the central kiosk. Also, all those who whole tickets for Oceanic Flight 815 from Sydney to LAX are asked to make their way to gate 440 at this time. We will begin boarding is approximately fifteen minutes, starting with families with small children and those people who may need more time to get to their seats. Thanks you."

Boone looked at him. "We need to go to the kiosk."

Sayid nodded. "Let's go."

OOO

His heart sank when he saw Jack waiting for them alone. The doctor was fidgeting, but his eyes were alert, darting from face to face in the crowd. "Nothing?" he asked the two as they approached.

"No, hopefully Sawyer…"

"He'll find her. Sawyer will find her," Jack said with confidence. "Good call on the announcement by the way. I can't believe we didn't think to do that."

The music stopped again, and nearly simultaneously, their heads shot up to stare at the speakers. "Attention all Oceanic flight 815 passengers. We will begin boarding in approximately five minutes for all those who need extra time to find their seats. Please have your tickets ready as you approach the counter. Also, Shannon Rutherford please report to the central kiosk. Thank you."

Sayid's eyes shut. If Sawyer didn't pull through… if she hadn't heard the announcement.

He wouldn't leave.

"You can tell 'em to pull that announcement, Metro," Sawyer drawled.

Sayid's head snapped around, and his eyes filled with tears when he saw Shannon standing beside the Southerner, a shopping bag in one hand and a combined look of fear and fury on her face.

"Oh my God, Shan," Boone muttered, pulling his sister into a hug.

She pulled away from him, shaking her head. "What the HELL is going on? Sawyer, Jack you said this was OVER. Craphole Island NEVER HAPPENED. Why are they doing this to us?"

Sayid glanced aside at Sawyer. "I presume you told her what happened."

Sawyer frowned. "You presume correctly. Sticks here was hell bent on heading to the Outback."

"When does all this end? Are we free or are we not?" Shannon sobbed, ending her tirade. She was fighting back tears, and Sayid found himself fighting back the urge to hold her.

They were all silent, staring at each other. He didn't know how to answer her question, and certainly none of the others did either. Thankfully, they were saved by the ambiguous voice over the loudspeaker.

"Attention all passengers on Oceanic Flight 815, we will begin general boarding in five minutes. All passengers are asked to come to Gate 440 at this time for an on time departure for LAX."

"Ready?" Sawyer asked, one eye brow raised.

Hesitantly, Shannon nodded. "I guess… if this is really the only way…"

"It is." It was the first question any of them had answered with any certainty since… well, since this whole ordeal began.

Shannon nodded. "Alright. You three go on, I want to talk to Sayid."

"Shan—" Boone started.

"Don't worry Bone-head," she replied with a small smile. "We'll get to the plane on time."

The younger man nodded, shooting Sayid a warning a glance, then followed Jack and Sawyer towards the plane.

As they moved out of site, Sayid grabbed her, pulling her close and kissing her fiercely. She returned the kiss, wrapping two slim arms around his neck, clinging to him tightly. "I was so afraid I lost you again…"

"Sayid—"

"I can't lose you again."

"Sayid you need to let me go."

He released her in shock. "What do you mean?"

"Do you love me?" she asked.

"Yes, Shannon, I love you." How could she doubt him?

A grin spread across her face at these words, and he tried to memorize how she looked at this moment. "I love you too."

Upon hearing these words, he felt the same smile break out across his face. How long had it been since he'd felt this genuinely happy. He pulled her in for another kiss.

She pushed him away again. "Wait I'm not done."

"What's the matter?"

"Walk with me," she said, indicating that they should move towards the gate. Glancing down at his watch, he saw there wasn't much time left before 815 took off. She took his hand, squeezing it gently. "I want you to find Nadia."

He attempted to speak, but she held a finger to his lips, silencing him. "I saw you looking at her photo before. That's why I left, why I wasn't going to get on the plane. For some reason, my brain immediately thought that if you were looking at Nadia, you didn't love me, and it was something I didn't want to face."

He stopped walking, wanting to reassure her. "Shannon—"

"Plane, Sayid," she said, pulling him along. "Anyway, I wandered in circles around the airport for a while, thinking about it, doing some retail therapy, and I realized how stupid I was being. You love me, you love Nadia. You never thought you'd see either one of us again. And that's why I want you to find her. I've spent so much of my life _being _with men who I didn't really love, playing them. It's an empty existence, and I don't want that for you. I don't want you to be with me, wondering what could have been with Nadia."

They were outside the gate now, and Sayid saw Boone sitting in the seats, waiting for his sister. "What about you Shannon?"

"What about me?" she smirked. "In case you've forgotten, I didn't have much of a life before the island. I'm starting it now- hopefully getting back into dance. I would love for you to be a part of it, you have no idea how much I want you to be a part of my life. But if not, if you chose Nadia… Sayid, I'll understand. It'll be hard at first, but I'm resilient, you know that. You'll always have a piece of my heart."

He didn't know how to respond. For once, she had him at an entire loss for words. So he did the only thing that seemed appropriate. He kissed her.

"Last call for boarding, Oceanic Flight 815, Sydney to LAX. All passengers pleasure report to the gate for an on-time departure." Pulling away from her, he saw the flight attendant at the gate giving them a glare that screamed, "Hurry your asses up, you obnoxious love birds."

"Are you ready?" he asked her.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Are you sure we're not repeating history here?"

"I am not."

She smiled at his honesty and made her way towards the desk. "Hey Bone-head, ready to go?"Boone jumped out of his seat, where he had apparently been dosing off, and followed Shannon on board. Sayid handed the woman his ticket.

"You're all set sir. Have a safe flight."

Sayid didn't want to say it aloud, but he hoped they did.

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**Wow… I just could not get this chapter written. I'm a huge Sayid/Shannon shipper, love the two, but it took me forever to get the words down, and I still don't know if I like it. But it's written, it's here, and Flight 815 is finally taking off! I'm sure you're as excited as I am to get out of Sydney Airport. I'm thinking one, maybe two, chapters in the air, and then the inevitable arrival at LAX and meeting with Ms. Eloise Hawking. **

**Thanks to everyone who read the last chapter, and especially those who took the time to review: Dan man, DiorNicole (times two!), miscme, KaydenceRei, CarolynneRuth, justawritier, Golden-Black Dragon, muzical, and SimplyCuteBambi. I'm so glad you're enjoying the story! **

**Feel free to leave a review- I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter! Updates should be slightly speedier from now on- the end of the semester is coming! All the best - Jac**


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